of ES  ON 


GLAND  BIRDS 


HEN RY  D.THOREAU^'ilil! 


iiiiiiiiiiinii!' 


^916 


6'i^  u,^f  Cyf. 7 ( /c/t/,^ ^ / 


^yyT^/j^  (5  dx^^jty 


NOTES  ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 


HEU.MIT   THRUSH   OX    NEST 


umvj.  noim 

NOTES  ON  '^'^  "^ '''''"' 

NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 


BY 
HENRY  D.  THOREAU 

ARRANGED  AND  EDITED 

BY 

FRANCIS   H.  ALLEN 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 
OF  BIRDS  IN  NATURE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,    1906,   BY   HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,    I9IO,    BY   HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  May  tgio 


PREFACE 

Scattered  through  the  fourteen  volumes  of  Tho- 
reau's  published  Journal  are  many  interesting  notes 
on  the  natural  history  of  New  England,  and  a  large 
proportion  of  these  relate  to  birds.  In  the  belief  that 
readers  and  students  would  be  glad  to  have  these  bird 
notes  arranged  systematically  in  a  single  volume,  this 
book  has  been  prepared.  It  will  perhaps  be  a  matter 
of  surprise  to  many  readers  to  learn  how  much  Tho- 
reau  wrote  upon  this  one  branch  of  natural  history, 
and  how  many  species  of  birds  he  found  something  to 
say  about  that  was  worth  the  saying.  Thoreau  was 
seldom  dull,  even  in  mere  records  of  commonplace 
facts,  and  the  reader  of  this  book,  though  he  may  be 
well  acquainted  with  the  author's  picturesque  style, 
can  hardly  fail  to  be  impressed  anew  with  his  power  to 
convey  a  vivid  and  interesting  picture  in  a  few  words. 

It  was,  indeed,  as  a  describer  rather  than  as  an  ob- 
server that  Thoreau  excelled.  He  never  acquired  much 
skill  in  the  diagnosis  of  birds  seen  in  the  field.  He 
never  became  in  any  respect  an  expert  ornithologist, 
and  some  of  the  reasons  are  not  far  to  seek.  He  was 
too  intent  on  becoming  an  expert  analogist,  for  one 
thing.  It  better  suited  his  genius  to  trace  some  analogy 
between  the  soaring  hawk  and  his  own  thoughts  than 
to  make  a  scientific  study  of  the  bird.  Moreover  his 
field,  including  as  it  did  all  nature,  was  too  wide  to 
admit  of  specialization  in  a  single  branch.   Then,  too, 


2051024 


vi  PKEFACE 

he  lacked  many  of  the  helps  that  to-day  smooth  the 
way  for  the  beginner  in  bird-study.  He  had  no  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  ornithologists  or  scientific  men 
of  any  sort,  and  after  giving  up  the  gun  in  his  young 
manhood  he  waited  many  years  before  he  purchased  a 
glass,  and  then  bought  a  spy-glass,  or  small  telescope, 
an  implement  which  was  useful  in  identifying  ducks 
floating  far  off  on  the  waters  of  the  river  or  Walden 
Pond,  but  could  hardly  have  served  him  very  well  with 
the  flitting  warblers  of  the  tree-tops.  The  books,  too,  in 
those  days  were  far  from  adequate.  Wilson  and  Nut- 
tall,  upon  whom  he  chiefly  relied,  are  unsurpassed  in 
some  respects  by  anything  we  have  to-day,  but  their 
descriptions  of  birds  were  not  designed  to  assist  in  field 
identification,  and  they  were  by  no  means  infallible  in 
other  matters.  These  books  were  not  new  even  in 
Thoreau's  day,  but  they  were  the  best  ornithological 
manuals  to  be  had,  and  with  Wilson  making  no  men- 
tion of  so  common  a  bird  as  the  least  flycatcher,  and 
Nuttall  in  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  the  olive- 
backed  thrush,  we  may  pardon  Thoreau  a  few  misap- 
prehensions. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Thoreau  seems  to  have  seen 
things  pretty  accurately,  —  when  he  saw  them  at  all, 
for  he  was  sometimes  strangely  blind  to  the  presence 
of  birds  which  must  have  been  fairly  common  inhabit- 
ants of  the  woods  and  fields  through  which  he  roamed. 
His  chief  difficulty  in  identification  was,  perhaps,  a 
tendency  to  jump  at  conclusions,  —  as  when,  meeting 
with  the  pileated  woodpecker  in  the  Maine  woods,  he 
at  once  set  it  down  as  the   "  red-headed  woodpecker 


PREFACE  vii 

(^Picus  eryihroce'phalus)^''  evidently  because  of  its 
conspicuous  red  crest.  The  reader  who  desires  to  make 
a  special  study  of  Thoreau  as  an  ornithologist  —  to 
learn  his  mistakes  as  well  as  his  discoveries  —  must  go 
to  the  Journal  itself.  There  he  will  find  the  true  and 
complete  record  of  Thoreau's  bird  observations,  —  in- 
cluding all  the  brief  notes  which  are  of  no  value  except 
in  the  compilation  of  migration  data  and  the  like,  and 
the  mere  identifications,  mistaken  and  otherwise.  In 
the  present  volume  it  has  seemed  best  to  confine  our- 
selves to  the  notes  which  have  some  intrinsic  value, 
whether  literary  or  scientific,  —  using  both  terms  in  a 
liberal  sense. 

It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  these  notes  are  from 
Thoreau's  Journal  and  therefore  have  not  alwaj^s  been 
cast  in  a  final  literary  form.  Regarded  as  literature, 
many  of  them  stand  in  need  of  shaping  and  polishing, 
but  they  are  none  the  less  interesting  for  that,  and  it 
is  also  to  be  remembered  that  Thoreau's  notes  were 
seldom  mere  records  of  fact.  He  never  forgot  that 
writing  was  his  vocation,  and  when  he  wrote  it  was  for 
the  purpose  of  recording  his  thoughts  in  the  best  lan- 
guage that  came  to  his  mind  at  the  moment.  He  wrote 
rapidly,  and  occasionally  a  word  was  omitted  or  the 
wrong  word  slipped  in,  though  that  happened  with 
rather  surprising  infrequency,  all  things  considered. 
The  editor  of  this  volume  was  associated  with  Mr. 
Bradford  Torrey  in  the  editing  of  Thoreau's  complete 
Journal^  and  he  can  affirm  from  personal  knowledge 
that  Thoreau's  omissions  and  slips  of  the  pen  are  all 
carefully  indicated  there.   In  the  present  book  it  has 


viii  PREFACE 

seemed  best  to  simplify  things  for  the  reader  by  omit- 
ting the  brackets  from  interpolated  words  in  the  case 
of  the  unimportant  ones  where  the  word  to  be  supplied 
was  obvious,  and  to  retain  them  only  in  the  case  of  the 
more  important  words,  or  where  there  was  any  possi- 
bility of  a  misapprehension  of  Thoreau's  meaning. 

It  may  be  well  here  to  point  out  the  office  of  the 
brackets,  [  ],  as  differentiated  from  parentheses,  (  ), 
since  their  use  is  not  always  understood  by  readers. 
Brackets,  as  used  nowadays  by  most  writers  and  print- 
ers, show  the  interpolations  of  the  editor,  while  the 
parentheses  are  the  author's  own.  Thus,  in  the  present 
volume,  a  question-mark  in  brackets,  [?],  indicates 
that  the  editors  of  the  Journal  were  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  they  had  rightly  interpreted  Thoreau's  hand- 
writing, but  the  same  in  parentheses,  (?),  is  Thoreau's 
own  query. 

So,  too,  in  the  notes,  those  which  are  bracketed  are 
the  editor's,  while  the  unbracketed  notes  are  later  an- 
notations by  Thoreau,  usually  in  pencil,  upon  the  pages 
of  his  manuscript  journals.  The  editor  has  felt  free  to 
quote  or  paraphrase  the  notes  of  the  published  Journal^ 
for  a  large  share  of  which  he  was  primarily  responsi- 
ble, and  he  believes  that  Mr.  Torrey  will  pardon  him 
if  in  a  few  cases  he  has  used  the  latter's  phraseology 
without  giving  specific  credit  for  it.  The  present  notes 
are  much  fuller  than  those  in  the  Journal,  the  plan 
of  which  did  not  admit  of  extensive  annotation. 

The  bird  matter  included  in  Thoreau's  more  formal 
works  —  the  Weeh,  Walden,  The  Maine  Woods,  Cape 
Cod,  Excursions,  and  Miscellanies  —  is  not  inconsid- 


PREFACE  ix 

erable,  though  it  amounts  to  less  than  one  twelfth  as 
much  as  that  contained  in  the  Journal.  For  the  con- 
venience of  readers  a  full  index  of  it  is  given  in  an 
Appendix  to  this  volume. 

The  editor  desires  to  thank  Mr.  William  Brewster 
and  Dr.  Charles  W.  Townsend  for  generous  and  help- 
ful advice  in  the  identification  of  certain  of  Thoreau's 
birds,  and,  in  closing,  to  express  his  confidence  that  the 
reader  of  this  book  will  lay  it  down  at  the  end  with  a 
more  lively  feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  man  who,  writ- 
ing in  prose,  has  written  more  poetry  about  American 
birds  than  all  our  poets  together. 

Boston,  April,  1910. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  Diving  Birds 1 

II.  Gulls,  Terns,  and  Petrels 9 

III.  Ducks  and  Geese 19 

IV.  Herons  and  Rails 63 

V.  Shore-Birds 84 

VI.  Quail  and  Grouse 94 

VII.  Pigeons 110 

VIII.  Hawks  and  Eagles 120 

IX.  Owls 169 

X.  Cuckoos,  Kingfishers,  and  Woodpeckers.    .  190 

XI.  Goatsuckers,  Swifts,  and  Hummingbirds.    .  203 

XII.  Flycatchers 215 

XIII.  Larks,  Crows,  and  Jays 224 

XIV.  Blackbirds,  Orioles,  etc 244 

XV.  Finches 265 

XVI.  Tanagers  and  Swallows 325 

XVII.  Waxwings,  Shrikes,  and  Vireos 340 

XVIII.   Warblers 347 

XIX.  Titlarks,  Thrashers,  and  Wrens    ....  360 

XX.  Creepers,  Nuthatches,  Tits,  and  Kinglets  .  366 

XXI.  Thrushes 377 

XXII.  General  and  Miscellaneous 403 

XXIII.   Domestic  Birds 434 

Appendix 443 

Index 447 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAOE 

Two  Views  of  a  Hermit  Thrush  on  her  Nest,  Frontispiece 
Photog^raphs  by  Rev.  Robert  S.  Morison 

Great  Blue  Herons  and  Nest 72 

Photograph  by  Herbert  K.  Job 

A  Mourning  Dove  and  her  Nest 118 

Photographs  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

Fish  Hawk .152 

Photograph  by  Ernest  Harold  Baynes 

Whip-poor-will  on  Nest 

\  204 

Nighthawk  disturbed  while  covering  Eggs 
Photographs  by  Herbert  K.  Job 


} 
} 


Red-winged  Blackbird 

;  250 

Red-winged  Blackbird's  Nest  and  Eggs 

"  What  Champollion  can  translate  the  hieroglyphics  on  these 

eggs?" 
Photographs  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 


Song  Sparrow 

Photograph  by  Charles  H.  Tolman 

Vesper  Sparrow  on  Nest 

Photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason  . 


290 


Barn  Swallows 330 

Photographs  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

Map  of  Concord,  Mass.,  showing  Localities  mentioned  by 

Thoreau  in  his  Journal,  compiled  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason    442 


NOTES  ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

I 

DIVING  BIRDS 

HORNED    GREBE 

Dec.  26,  1853.  Walden  still  open.  Saw  in  it  a  small 
diver,  probably  a  grebe  or  dobchick,  dipper,  or  what-not, 
with  the  markings,  as  far  as  I  saw,  of  the  crested  grebe, 
but  smaller.  It  had  a  black  head,  a  white  ring  about  its 
neck,  a  white  breast,  black  back,  and  apparently  no  tail.* 
It  dove  and  swam  a  few  rods  under  water,  and,  when  on 
the  surface,  kept  turning  round  and  round  warily  and 
nodding  its  head  the  while.  This  being  the  only  pond 
hereabouts  that  is  open. 

Sept.  27,  1860.  Monroe's  tame  ducks  sail  along  and 
feed  close  to  me  as  I  am  working  there.  Looking  up,  I 
see  a  little  dipper,  about  one  half  their  size,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  river,  evidently  attracted  by  these  tame  ducks, 
as  to  a  place  of  security.  I  sit  down  and  watch  it.  The 
tame  ducks  have  paddled  four  or  j&ve  rods  down-stream 
along  the  shore.  They  soon  detect  the  dipper  three 
or  four  rods  off,  and  betray  alarm  by  a  tittering  note, 
especially  when  it  dives,  as  it  does  continually.  At  last, 
when  it  is  two  or  three  rods  off  and  approaching  them 
by  diving,  they  all  rush  to  the  shore  and  come  out  on  it 

^  [From  the  description  it  would  appear  to  have  been  a  horned  grebe, 
though  the  white  on  the  throat  and  neck  of  that  bird  does  not  form  a  com- 
plete ring.  The  bird  of  September,  1860,  is  more  accurately  described.] 


2       NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

in  their  fear,  but  the  dipper  shows  itself  close  to  the 
shore,  and  when  they  enter  the  water  again  joins  them 
within  two  feet,  still  diving  from  time  to  time  and 
threatening  to  come  up  in  their  midst.  They  return 
up-stream,  more  or  less  alarmed,  and  pursued  in  this 
wise  by  the  dipper,  who  does  not  know  what  to  make  of 
their  fears,  and  soon  the  dipper  is  thus  tolled  along  to 
within  twenty  feet  of  where  I  sit,  and  I  can  watch  it  at 
my  leisure.  It  has  a  dark  bill  and  considerable  white 
on  the  sides  of  the  head  or  neck,  with  black  between 
it,  no  tufts,  and  no  observable  white  on  back  or  tail. 
When  at  last  disturbed  by  me,  it  suddenly  sinks  low 
(all  its  body)  in  the  water  without  diving.  Thus  it  can 
float  at  various  heights.  (So  on  the  30th  I  saw  one  sud- 
denly dash  along  the  surface  from  the  meadow  ten  rods 
before  me  to  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  then  dive,  and 
though  I  watched  fifteen  minutes  and  examined  the 
tufts  of  grass,  I  could  see  no  more  of  it.) 

PIED-BILLED    GREBE  ^ 

Oct.  17,  1855.  I  saw  behind  (or  rather  in  front  of) 
me  as  I  rowed  home  a  little  dipper  appear  in  mid-river, 
as  if  I  had  passed  right  over  him.  It  dived  while  I 
looked,  and  I  could  not  see  it  come  up  anywhere. 

Sept.  9, 1858.  Watched  a  little  dipper  ^  some  ten  rods 

^  [Probably  moat  of  the  "  little  dippers  "  whicli  are  referred  to  cas- 
ually in  Thoreau's  Journal  were  of  this  species,  though  some  were  un- 
doubtedly the  (in  fresh  water)  rarer  horned  grebe  and  others  the  buffle- 
head  duck.] 

^  [On  the  30th  of  the  same  month  Thoreau  saw  a  "  little  dipper  " 
which  was  "much  smaller  "  than  any  others  he  had  seen  that  season 
and  concluded  that  he  had  not  seen  the  real  little  dipper  before.  What 


LOON  3 

off  with  my  glass,  but  I  could  see  no  white  on  the  breast. 
It  was  all  black  and  brownish,  and  head  not  enlarged. 
Who  knows  how  many  little  dippers  are  sailing  and 
sedulously  diving  now  along  the  edge  of  the  pickerel- 
weed  and  the  button-bushes  on  our  river,  unsuspected 
by  most?  This  hot  September  afternoon  all  may  be 
quiet  amid  the  weeds,  but  the  dipper,  and  the  bittern, 
and  the  yellow-legs,  and  the  blue  heron,  and  the  rail  are 
silently  feeding  there.  At  length  the  walker  who  sits 
meditating  on  a  distant  bank  sees  the  little  dipper  sail 
out  from  amid  the  weeds  and  busily  dive  for  its  food 
along  their  edge.  Yet  ordinary  eyes  might  range  up  and 
down  the  river  all  day  and  never  detect  its  small  black 
head  above  the  water. 

[/S'ee  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  417, 
433.] 

LOON 

1845-47  (no  exact  date).  The  loon  comes  in  the  fall 
to  sail  and  bathe  in  the  pond,^  making  the  woods  ring 
with  its  wild  laughter  in  the  early  morning,  at  rumor  of 
whose  arrival  all  Concord  sportsmen  are  on  the  alert, 
in  gigs,  on  foot,  two  by  two,  three  by  three,  with  pa- 
tent rifles,  patches,  conical  balls,  spy-glass  or  open  hole 
over  the  barrel.  They  seem  already  to  hear  the  loon 
laugh ;  come  rustling  through  the  woods  like  October 
leaves,  these  on  this  side,  those  on  that,  for  the  poor 
loon  cannot  be  omnipresent ;  if  he  dive  here,  must  come 

he  haa  to  say  of  this  hird  of  September  9th  will  apply  very  well  to  the 
pied-billed  grebe,  however,  and  the  paragraph  is  placed  here  for  want 
of  a  better  place.] 
1  [Walden  Pond.] 


4      NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

up  somewhere.  The  October  wind  rises,  rustling  the 
leaves,  ruffling  the  pond  water,  so  that  no  loon  can  be 
seen  rippling  the  surface.  Our  sportsmen  scour,  sweep 
the  pond  with  spy-glass  in  vain,  making  the  woods  ring 
with  rude  [?]  charges  of  powder,  for  the  loon  went  off 
in  that  morning  rain  with  one  loud,  long,  hearty  laugh, 
and  our  sportsmen  must  beat  a  retreat  to  town  and  stable 
and  daily  routine,  shop  work,  unfinished  jobs  again. 

Or  in  the  gray  dawn  the  sleeper  hears  the  long  duck- 
ing gun  explode  over  toward  Goose  Pond,  and,  hasten- 
ing to  the  door,  sees  the  remnant  of  a  flock,  black  duck 
or  teal,  go  whistling  by  with  outstretched  neck,  with 
broken  ranks,  but  in  ranger  order.  And  the  silent  hunter 
emero'es  into  the  carriage  road  with  ruffled  feathers  at 
his  belt,  from  the  dark  pond-side  where  he  has  lain  in 
his  bower  since  the  stars  went  out. 

And  for  a  week  you  hear  the  circling  clamor,  clangor, 
of  some  solitary  goose  through  the  fog,  seeking  its  mate, 
peopling  the  woods  with  a  larger  life  than  they  can  hold. 

For  hours  in  fall  days  you  shall  watch  the  ducks  cun- 
ningly tack  and  veer  and  hold  the  middle  of  the  pond, 
far  from  the  sportsmen  on  the  shore,  —  tricks  they  have 
learned  and  practiced  in  far  Canada  lakes  or  in  Louisi- 
ana bayous. 

The  waves  rise  and  dash,  taking  sides  with  all  water- 
fowl. 

Oct.  8,  1852.  P.  M.  —  Walden.  As  I  was  paddling 
along  the  north  shore,  after  having  looked  in  vain  over 
the  pond  for  a  loon,  suddenly  a  loon,  sailing  toward  the 
middle,  a  few  rods  in  front,  set  up  his  wild  laugh  and 
betrayed  himself.  I  pursued  with  a  paddle  and  he  dived, 


LOON  6 

but  when  he  came  up  I  was  nearer  than  before.  He 
dived  again,  but  I  miscalculated  the  direction  he  would 
take,  and  we  were  fifty  rods  apart  when  he  came  up, 
and  again  he  laughed  long  and  loud.  He  managed  very 
cunningly,  and  I  could  not  get  within  half  a  dozen  rods 
of  him.  Sometimes  he  would  come  up  unexpectedly  on 
the  opposite  side  of  me,  as  if  he  had  passed  directly 
under  the  boat.  So  long-winded  was  he,  so  unweariable, 
that  he  would  immediately  plunge  again,  and  then  no 
wit  could  divine  where  in  the  deep  pond,  beneath  the 
smooth  surface,  he  might  be  speeding  his  way  like  a  fish, 
perchance  passing  under  the  boat.  He  had  time  and 
ability  to  visit  the  bottom  of  the  pond  in  its  deepest 
part.  A  newspaper  authority  says  a  fisherman  —  giv- 
ing his  name —  has  caught  loon  in  Seneca  Lake,  N.  Y., 
eighty  feet  beneath  the  surface,  with  hooks  set  for  trout. 
Miss  Cooper  ^  has  said  the  same.  Yet  he  appeared  to 
know  his  course  as  surely  under  water  as  on  the  surface, 
and  swam  much  faster  there  than  he  sailed  on  the  sur- 
face. It  was  surprising  how  serenely  he  sailed  off  with 
unrufled  bosom  when  he  came  to  the  surface.  It  was  as 
well  for  me  to  rest  on  my  oars  and  await  his  reappear- 
ing as  to  endeavor  to  calculate  where  he  would  come  up. 
When  I  was  straining  my  eyes  over  the  surface,  I  would 
suddenly  be  startled  by  his  unearthly  laugh  behind  me. 
But  why,  after  displaying  so  much  cunning,  did  he  be- 
tray himself  the  moment  he  came  to  the  surface  with  that 
loud  laugh?  His  white  breast  enough  betrayed  him. 
He  was  indeed  a  silly  loon,  I  thought.  Though  he  took 
all  this  pains  to  avoid  me,  he  never  failed  to  give  notice 
^  [Susan  Fenimore  Cooper,  Rural  Hours,  p.  10.] 


6       NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

of  his  whereabouts  the  moment  he  came  to  the  surface. 
After  an  hour  he  seemed  as  fresh  as  ever,  dived  as  will- 
ingly, and  swam  yet  farther  than  at  first.  Once  or  twice 
I  saw  a  ripple  where  he  approached  the  surface,  just  put 
his  head  out  to  reconnoitre,  and  instantly  dived  again. 
I  could  commonly  hear  the  plash  of  the  water  when  he 
came  up,  and  so  also  detected  him.  It  was  commonly  a 
demoniac  laughter,  yet  somewhat  like  a  water-bird,  but 
occasionally,  when  he  had  balked  me  most  successfully 
and  come  up  a  long  way  off,  he  uttered  a  long-drawn 
unearthly  howl,  probably  more  like  a  wolf  than  any 
other  bird.  This  was  his  looning.  As  when  a  beast  puts 
his  muzzle  to  the  ground  and  deliberately  howls ;  per- 
haps the  wildest  sound  I  ever  heard,  making  the  woods 
ring  ;  and  I  concluded  that  he  laughed  in  derision  of 
my  efforts,  confident  of  his  own  resources.  Though  the 
sky  was  overcast,  the  pond  was  so  smooth  that  I  could 
see  where  he  broke  the  surface  if  I  did  not  hear  him. 
His  white  breast,  the  stillness  of  the  air,  the  smoothness 
of  the  water,  were  all  against  him.  At  length,  having 
come  up  fifty  rods  off,  he  uttered  one  of  those  prolonged 
unearthly  howls,  as  if  calling  on  the  god  of  loons  to  aid 
him,  and  immediately  there  came  a  wind  from  the  east 
and  rippled  the  surface,  and  filled  the  whole  air  with 
misty  rain.  I  was  impressed  as  if  it  were  the  prayer  of 
the  loon  and  his  god  was  angry  with  me.  How  surprised 
must  be  the  fishes  to  see  this  ungainly  visitant  from 
another  sphere  speeding  his  way  amid  their  schools ! 

I  have  never  seen  more  than  one  at  a  time  in  our 
pond,  and  I  believe  that  that  is  always  a  male.' 

'  [The  sexes  are  indistinguishable.] 


LITTLE  AUK 


RED-THROATED   LOON 


Nov.-  11, 1858.  Goodwin*  brings  me  this  forenoon  a 
this  year's  loon,  which  he  just  killed  on  the  river, — 
great  northern  diver,  but  a  smaller  specimen  than  Wil- 
son describes  and  somewhat  differently  marked.  It  is 
twenty-seven  inches  long  to  end  of  feet  by  forty-four 
and  bill  three  and  three  quarters  to  angle  of  mouth ; 
above  blackish-gray  with  small  white  spots  (two  at  end 
of  each  feather).^  Beneath,  pure  white,  throat  and  all, 
except  a  dusky  bar  across  the  vent.  Bill  chiefly  pale- 
bluish  and  dusky.  You  are  struck  by  its  broad,  flat, 
sharp-edged  legs,  made  to  cut  through  the  water  rather 
than  to  walk  with,  set  far  back  and  naturally  stretched 
out  backward,  its  long  and  powerful  bill,  conspicuous 
white  throat  and  breast.  Dislodged  by  winter  in  the 
north,  it  is  slowly  travelling  toward  a  warmer  clime, 
diving  in  the  cool  river  this  morning,  which  is  now  full 
of  light,  the  trees  and  bushes  on  the  brink  having  long 
since  lost  their  leaves,  and  the  neighboring  fields  are 
white  with  frost.  Yet  this  hardy  bird  is  comfortable  and 
contented  there  if  the  sportsman  would  let  it  alone. 

DOVEKIE;   LITTLE   AUK 

July  25,  1860.  P.  M.— To  Mr.  Bradshaw's,  Way- 
land,  with  Ed.  Hoar. 

I  was  surprised  to  see  among  the  birds  which  Brad- 
shaw  has  obtained  the  little  auk  of  Nuttall  (^3Iergulus 

^  [John  Goodwin,  a  Concord  gunner  and  fisherman.] 
^  [The  size  and  markings  indicate  this  species  in  spite  of  its  rarity  in 
fresh  water  in  Massachusetts.  ] 


8       NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

alle,^  or  common  sea-dove),  which  he  says  that  he  shot 
in  the  fall  on  the  pond  of  the  Assabet  at  Knight's  fac- 
tory. There  were  two,  and  the  other  was  killed  with  a 
paddle. 

Nov.  19,  1860.  Mr.  Bradshaw  says  that  he  got  a 
little  auk  in  Wayland  last  week,  and  heard  of  two  more, 
one  in  Weston  and  the  other  in  Natick.  Thinks  they 
came  with  the  storm  of  the  10th  and  11th. 

^  [Now  called  Alle  alle  by  the  ornithologists.] 


II 

GULLS,  TERNS,  AND  PETRELS 

HERRING   GULL* 

April  4,  1852.  There  are  three  great  gulls  sailing  in 
the  middle  [of  Fair  Haven],  Now  my  shouting  (per- 
chance) raises  one,  and,  flying  low  and  heavily  over 
the  water,  with  heavy  shoulders  and  sharp  beak,  it  ut- 
ters its  loud  mewing  or  squeaking  notes,  —  some  of 
them  like  a  squeaking  pump-handle, — which  sound  very 
strange  to  our  woods.  It  gives  a  different  character  to 
the  pond, 

April  15,  1852.  Thinking  of  the  value  of  the  gull  to 
the  scenery  of  our  river  in  the  spring,  when  for  a  few 
weeks  they  are  seen  circling  about  so  deliberately  and 
heavily  yet  gracefully,  without  apparent  object,  beating 
like  a  vessel  in  the  air,  Gilpin  ^  says  something  to  the 
purpose,  —  that  water-fowl "  discover  in  their  flight  some 
determined  aim.  They  eagerly  coast  the  river,  or  return 
to  the  sea ;  bent  on  some  purpose,  of  which  they  never 
lose  sight.  But  the  evolutions  of  the  gull  appear  ca- 
pricious, and  undirected,  both  when  she  flies  alone,  and, 
as  she  often  does,  in  large  companies.  —  The  more 
however  her  character  suffers  as  a  loiterer,  the  more  it 
is  raised  in  picturesque  value,  by  her  continuing  longer 

^  [Most,  if  not  all,  of  the  large  gulls  seen  by  Thoreau  at  Conoord 
were  doubtless  of  this  species.] 
^  [William  Gilpin,  Bemarks  on  Forest  Scenery,  London,  1794.] 


10     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

before  the  eye ;  and  displaying,  in  her  elegant  sweeps 
along  the  air,  her  sharp-pointed  wings,  and  her  bright 
silvery  hue.  —  She  is  beautiful  also,  not  only  on  the 
wing,  but  when  she  floats,  in  numerous  assemblies  on 
the  water ;  or  when  she  rests  on  the  shore,  dotting 
either  one  or  the  other  with  white  spots ;  which,  minute 
as  they  are,  are  very  picturesque :  .  .  .  giving  life  and 
spirit  to  a  view." 

He  seems  to  be  describing  our  very  bird.  I  do  not 
remeynher  to  have  seen  them  over  or  in  our  river  mead- 
ows when  there  was  not  ice  there.  They  come  annually 
a-fishing  here  like  royal  hunters,  to  remind  us  of  the 
5ea  and  that  our  town,  after  all,  lies  but  further  up  a 
creek  of  the  universal  sea,  above  the  head  of  the  tide. 
So  ready  is  a  deluge  to  overwhelm  our  lands,  as  the 
gulls  to  circle  hither  in  the  spring  freshets.  To  see  a 
gull  beating  high  over  our  meadowy  flood  in  chill  and 
windy  March  is  akin  to  seeing  a  mackerel  schooner  on 
the  coast.  It  is  the  nearest  approach  to  sailing  vessels 
in  our  scenery.  I  never  saw  one  at  Walden.  Oh,  how 
it  salts  our  fresh,  our  sweet-watered  Fair  Haven  *  all  at 
once  to  see  this  sharp-beaked,  greedy  sea-bird  beating 
over  it !  For  a  while  the  water  is  brackish  to  my  eyes. 
It  is  merely  some  herring  pond,  and  if  I  climb  the 
eastern  bank  I  expect  to  see  the  Atlantic  there  covered 
with  countless  sails.  We  are  so  far  maritime,  do  not 
dwell  beyond  the  range  of  the  seagoing  gull,  the  littoral 
birds.  Does  not  the  gull  come  up  after  those  suckers 
which  I  see  ?  ^  He  is  never  to  me  perfectly  in  harmony 

^  [Fairhaven  Pond,  or  Bay,  in  the  Sudbury  River.] 

■■'  [Dead  suckers,  which  he  goes  on  to  philosophize  about.] 


HERRING  GULL  11 

with  the  scenery,  but,  like  the  high  water,  something 
unusual. 

Ajjril  19,  1852.  What  comes  flapping  low  with  heavy- 
wing  over  the  middle  of  the  flood  ?  Is  it  an  eagle  or  a 
fish  hawk  ?  Ah,  now  he  is  betrayed,  I  know  not  by 
what  motion,  —  a  great  gull,  right  in  the  eye  of  the 
storm.  He  holds  not  a  steady  course,  but  suddenly  he 
dashes  upward  even  like  the  surf  of  the  sea  which  he 
frequents,  showing  the  under  sides  of  his  long,  pointed 
wings,  on  which  do  I  not  see  two  white  spots  ?  He  sud- 
denly beats  upward  thus  as  if  to  surmount  the  airy  bil- 
lows by  a  slanting  course,  as  the  teamster  surmounts  a 
slope.  The  swallow,  too,  plays  thus  fantastically  and 
luxuriously  and  leisurely,  doubling  some  unseen  cor- 
ners in  the  sky.  Here  is  a  gull,  then,  long  after  ice  in 
the  river.  It  is  a  fine  sight  to  see  this  noble  bird  lei- 
surely advancing  right  in  the  face  of  the  storm. 

April  7,  1853.  A  great  gull,  though  it  is  so  fair  and 
the  wind  northwest,  fishing  over  the  flooded  meadow. 
He  slowly  circles  round  and  hovers  with  flapping  wings 
in  the  air  over  particular  spots,  repeatedly  returning 
there  and  sailing  quite  low  over  the  water,  with  long, 
narrow,  pointed  wings,  trembling  throughout  their 
length. 

March  29,  1854.  A  gull  of  pure  white,  —  a  wave  of 
foam  in  the  air.  How  simple  and  wave-like  its  outline, 
the  outline  of  the  wings  presenting  two  curves,  between 
which  the  tail  is  merely  the  point  of  junction,  —  all 
wing  like  a  birch  scale ;  tail  remarkably  absorbed. 

March  18,  1855.  I  see  with  my  glass  as  I  go  over  the 
railroad  bridge,  sweeping  the  river,  a  great  gull  standing 


12     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

far  away  on  the  top  of  a  muskrat-cabin  which  rises  just 
above  the  water  opposite  the  Hubbard  Bath.  When  I 
get  round  within  sixty  rods  of  him,  ten  minutes  later, 
he  still  stands  on  the  same  spot,  constantly  turning  his 
head  to  every  side,  looking  out  for  foes.  Like  a  wooden 
image  of  a  bird  he  stands  there,  heavy  to  look  at ;  head, 
breast,  beneath,  and  rump  pure  white ;  slate-colored  wings 
tipped  with  black  and  extending  beyond  the  tail,  —  the 
herring  gull.  I  can  see  clear  down  to  its  webbed  feet. 
But  now  I  advance,  and  he  rises  easily,  goes  off  north- 
eastward over  the  river  with  a  leisurely  flight.  At 
Clamshell  Hill  I  sweep  the  river  again,  and  see,  stand- 
ing midleg  deep  on  the  meadow  where  the  water  is  very 
shallow  with  deeper  around,  another  of  these  wooden 
images,  which  is  harder  to  scare.  I  do  not  fairly  distin- 
guish black  tips  to  its  wings.  It  is  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
before  I  get  him  to  rise,  and  then  he  goes  off  in  the 
same  leisurely  manner,  stroking  the  air  with  his  wings, 
and  now  making  a  great  circle  back  on  its  course,  so  you 
cannot  tell  which  way  it  is  bound.  By  standing  so  long 
motionless  in  these  places  they  may  perchance  accom- 
plish two  objects,  i.  e.,  catch  passing  fish  (suckers  ?)  like 
a  heron  and  escape  the  attention  of  man.  Its  utmost 
motion  was  to  plume  itself  once  and  turn  its  head  about. 
If  it  did  not  move  its  head,  it  would  look  like  a  decoy. 
Our  river  is  quite  low  for  the  season,  and  yet  it  is  here 
without  freshet  or  easterly  storm.  It  seems  to  take  this 
course  on  its  migrations  without  regard  to  the  state  of 
the  waters. 

April  15,  1855.    Before  we  rounded  Ball's  Hill,  — 
the  water  now  beautifully  smooth,  —  at  2.30  p.  m.,  we 


_J! 


HERRING   GULL  13 

saw  three  gulls  sailing  on  the  glassy  meadow  at  least  half 
a  mile  off,  by  the  oak  peninsula,  —  the  plainer  because 
they  were  against  the  reflection  of  the  hills.  They  looked 
larger  than  afterward  close  at  hand,  as  if  their  white- 
ness was  reflected  and  doubled.  As  we  advanced  into 
the  Great  Meadows,  making  the  only  ripples  in  their 
broad  expanse,  there  being  still  not  a  ray  of  sunshine, 
only  a  subdued  light  through  the  thinner  crescent  in 
the  north,  the  reflections  of  the  maples,  of  Ponkawtasset 
and  the  poplar  hill,  and  the  whole  township  in  the 
southwest,  were  as  perfect  as  I  ever  saw.  A  wall  which 
ran  down  to  the  water  on  the  hillside,  without  any  re- 
markable curve  in  it,  was  exaggerated  by  the  reflection 
into  the  half  of  an  ellipse.  The  meadow  was  expanded 
to  a  large  lake,  the  shore-line  being  referred  to  the 
sides  of  the  hills  reflected  in  it.  It  was  a  scene  worth 
many  such  voyages  to  see.  It  was  remarkable  how  much 
light  those  white  gulls,  and  also  a  bleached  post  on  a 
distant  shore,  absorbed  and  reflected  through  that 
sombre  atmosphere,  —  conspicuous  almost  as  candles 
in  the  night.  When  we  got  near  to  the  gulls,  they  rose 
heavily  and  flapped  away,  answering  a  more  distant  one, 
with  a  remarkable,  deliberate,  melancholy,  squeaking 
scream,  mewing,  or  piping,  almost  a  squeal.  It  was  a 
little  like  the  loon.  Is  this  sound  the  origin  of  the  name 
sea-mew?  Notwithstanding  the  smoothness  of  the  water, 
we  could  not  easily  see  black  ducks  against  the  reflection 
of  the  woods,  but  heard  them  rise  at  a  distance  before 
we  saw  them. 

April  22,  1857.  A  dozen  gulls  are  circling  over  Fair 
Haven  Pond,  some  very  white  beneath,  with  very  long, 


14     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

narrow-pointed,  black-tipped  wings,  almost  regular 
semicircles  like  the  new  moon.  As  they  circle  beneath  a 
white  scud  in  this  bright  air,  they  are  almost  invisible 
against  it,  they  are  so  nearly  the  same  color.  What  glo- 
rious fliers  !  But  few  birds  are  seen  ;  only  a  crow  or  two 
teetering  along  the  water's  edge  looking  for  its  food, 
with  its  large,  clumsy  head,  and  on  unusually  long  legs, 
as  if  stretched,  or  its  pants  pulled  up  to  keep  it  from  the 
wet,  and  now  flapping  off  with  some  large  morsel  in  its 
bill ;  or  robins  in  the  same  place ;  or  perhaps  the  sweet 
song  of  the  tree  sparrows  from  the  alders  by  the  shore, 
or  of  a  song  sparrow  or  blackbird.  The  phcebe  is 
scarcely  heard.  Not  a  duck  do  we  see  ! 

March  22, 1858.  There  is  a  strong  and  cool  northwest 
wind.  Leaving  our  boat  just  below  N.  Barrett's,  we  walk 
down  the  shore.  We  see  many  gulls  on  the  very  opposite 
side  of  the  meadow,  near  the  woods.  They  look  bright- 
white,  like  snow  on  the  dark-blue  water.  It  is  surpris- 
ing how  far  they  can  be  seen,  how  much  light  they  re- 
flect, and  how  conspicuous  they  are.  Being  strung  along 
one  every  rod,  they  made  me  think  of  a  fleet  in  line  of 
battle.  We  go  along  to  the  pitch  pine  hill  off  Abner 
Buttrick's,  and,  finding  a  sheltered  and  sunny  place,  we 
watch  the  ducks  from  it  with  our  glass.  There  are  not 
only  gulls,  but  about  forty  black  ducks  and  as  many 
sheldrakes,  and,  I  think,  two  wood  ducks.  The  gulls  ap- 
pear considerably  the  largest  and  make  the  most  show, 
they  are  so  uniformly  light-colored.  At  a  distance,  as  I 
have  said,  they  look  like  snowy  masses,  and  even  nearer 
they  have  a  lumpish  look,  like  a  mass  of  cotton,  the 
head  being  light  as  well  as  the  breast.  They  are  seen 


HERRING   GULL  15 

sailing  about  in  the  shallow  water,  or  standing  motion- 
less on  a  clod  that  just  rises  above  the  surface,  in  which 
position  they  have  a  particularly  clumsy  look  ;  or  one  or 
two  may  be  seen  slowly  wheeling  about  above  the  rest. 
From  time  to  time  the  whole  flock  o£  gulls  suddenly 
rises  and  begins  circling  about,  and  at  last  they  settle 
down  in  some  new  place  and  order.  With  these  were  at 
first  associated  about  forty  black  ducks,  pretty  close  to- 
gether, sometimes  apparently  in  close  single  lines,  some 
looking  lumpish  like  decoys  of  wood,  others  standing 
on  the  bottom  and  reminding  me  of  penguins.  They 
were  constantly  diving  with  great  energy,  making 
the  water  fly  apparently  two  feet  upward  in  a  thick 
shower.  Then  away  they  all  go,  circling  about  for 
ten  minutes  at  least  before  they  can  decide  where  to 
alight. 

The  black  heads  and  white  breasts,  which  may  be 
golden-eyes,  for  they  are  evidently  paired,  male  and 
female,  for  the  most  part,^  —  and  yet  I  thought  that  I 
saw  the  red  bill  of  the  sheldrake,  —  these  are  most  in- 
cessantly and  skillfully  plunging  and  from  time  to  time 
apparently  pursuing  each  other.  They  are  much  more 
active,  whether  diving  or  swimming  about,  than  you  ex- 
pect ducks  to  be.  Now,  perchance,  they  are  seen  chang- 
ing their  ground,  swimming  off,  perhaps,  two  by  two, 
in  pairs,  very  steadily  and  swiftly,  without  diving.  I  see 
two  of  these  very  far  off  on  a  bright-blue  bay  where  the 
waves  are  running  high.  They  are  two  intensely  white 
specks,  which  yet  you  might  mistake  for  the  foaming 
crest  of  waves.    Now  one  disappears,  but  soon  is  seen 

1  They  are  sheldrakes  [t.  e.  American  mergansers]. 


16     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

again,  and  then  its  companion  is  lost  in  like  manner, 
having  dived. 

March  16,  1859.  We  meet  one  great  gull  beating 
up  the  course  of  the  river  against  the  wind,  at  Flint's 
Bridge.  (One  says  they  were  seen  about  a  week  ago,  but 
there  was  very  little  water  then.)  Its  is  a  very  leisurely 
sort  of  limping  flight,  tacking  its  way  along  like  a  sailing 
vessel,  yet  the  slow  security  with  which  it  advances  sug- 
gests a  leisurely  conteraplativeness  in  the  bird,  as  if  it 
were  working  out  some  problem  quite  at  its  leisure.  As 
often  as  its  very  narrow,  long,  and  curved  wings  are 
lifted  up  against  the  light,  I  see  a  very  narrow  distinct 
light  edging  to  the  wing  where  it  is  thin.  Its  black-tipped 
wings.  Afterwards,  from  Ball's  Hill,  looking  north,  I 
see  two  more  circling  about  looking  for  food  over  the 
ice  and  water. 

March  18,  1859.  Rice  ^  thinks  that  he  has  seen  two 
gulls  on  the  Sudbury  meadows,  —  the  white  and  the 
gray  gulls.  He  has  often  seen  a  man  shoot  the  large 
gull  from  Cambridge  bridge  by  heading  him  off,  for  the 
gull  flies  slowly.  He  would  first  run  this  way,  and  when 
the  gull  turned  aside,  run  that,  till  the  gull  passed 
right  over  his  head,  when  he  shot  him.  Rice  saw  Fair 
Haven  Pond  still  covered  with  ice,  though  open  along 
the  shore,  yesterday.  I  frequently  see  the  gulls  flying 
up  the  course  of  the  stream,  or  of  the  river  valley  at 
least. 

March  23,  1859.  Then  I  see  come  slowly  flying  from 
the  southwest  a  great  gull,  of  voracious  form,  which  at 
length  by  a  sudden  and  steep  descent  alights  in  Fair 

*  [Israel  Rice,  a  Sudbury  farmer  living  near  the  river.] 


COMMON   TERN;    MACKEREL   GULL     17 

Haven  Pond,  scaring  up  a  crow  which  was  seeking 
its  food  on  the  edge  of  the  ice.  This  shows  that 
the  crows  get  along  the  meadow's  edge  also  what  has 
washed  up. 

March  16,  1860.  I  also  see  two  gulls  nearly  a  mile 
off.  One  stands  still  and  erect  for  three  quarters  of  an 
hour,  or  till  disturbed,  on  a  little  bit  of  floated  meadow- 
crust  which  rises  above  the  water,  —  just  room  for  it 
to  stand  on,  —  with  its  great  white  breast  toward  the 
wind.  Then  another  comes  flying  past  it,  and  alights  on 
a  similar  perch,  but  which  does  not  rise  quite  to  the  sur- 
face, so  that  it  stands  in  the  water.  Thus  they  will  stand 
for  an  hour,  at  least.  They  are  not  of  handsome  form, 
but  look  like  great  wooden  images  of  birds,  bluish-slate 
and  white.  But  when  they  fly  they  are  quite  another 
creature. 

[/S'ee  also  under  American  Merganser,  p.  27;  Wild 
Ducks,  p.  50  ;  Wild  Goose,  p.  61 ;  General  and  Miscel- 
laneous, pp.  412,  413.] 

COMMON   tern;   mackerel   GULL 

June  21,  1857.  At  East  Harbor  River,  as  I  sat  on 
the  Truro  end  of  the  bridge,  I  saw  a  great  flock  of 
mackerel  gulls,  one  hundred  at  least,  on  a  sandy  point, 
whitening  the  shore  there  like  so  many  white  stones  on 
the  shore  and  in  the  water,  uttering  all  together  their 
vibrating  shrill  note.  They  had  black  heads,  light 
bluish-slate  wings,  and  light  rump  and  tail  and  be- 
neath. From  time  to  time  all  or  most  would  rise  and 
circle  about  with  a  clamor,  then  settle  again  on  the 
same  spot  close  together. 


18     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Wilson's  petrel;  mother-carey's-chicken 

June  18,  1857.  I  had  shortly  before  picked  up  a 
Mother-Carey's-ehicken,  which  was  just  washed  up  dead 
on  the  beach.  ^  This  I  carried  tied  to  the  tip  of  my 
umbrella,  dangling  outside.  When  the  inhabitants  saw 
me  come  up  from  the  beach  this  stormy  day,  with  this 
emblem  dangling  from  my  umbrella,  and  saw  me  set  it 
up  in  a  corner  carefully  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  cats, 
they  may  have  taken  me  for  a  crazy  man.  .  .  . 

The  Mother-Carey's-chicken  was  apparently  about 
thirteen  inches  in  alar  extent,  black-brown,  with  seven 
primaries,  the  second  a  little  longer  than  the  third ; 
rump  and  vent  white,  making  a  sort  of  ring  of  white, 
breast  ashy -brown,  legs  black  with  yellowish  webs,  bill 
black  with  a  protuberance  above. 

Jtine  22,  1857.  It  was  a  thick  fog  with  some  rain, 
and  we  saw  no  land  nor  a  single  sail,  till  near  Minot's 
Ledge. ^  The  boat  stopped  and  whistled  once  or  twice. 
The  monotony  was  only  relieved  by  the  numerous  pet- 
rels,^ those  black  sea-swallows,  incessantly  skimming 
over  the  undulating  [surface],  a  few  inches  above  and 
parallel  with  it,  and  occasionally  picking  some  food 
from  it.  Now  they  dashed  past  our  stern  and  now 
across  our  bows,  as  if  we  were  stationary,  though  going 
at  the  rate  of  a  dozen  knots  an  hour. 

1  [On  Cape  Cod.] 

^  [On  the  steamer  from  Provincetown  to  Boston.] 

^  [The  season  would  indicate  that  these  were  probably  Wilson's 
petrels,  rather  than  Leach's,  which  in  the  latter  part  of  June  would 
be  on  their  breeding-grounds.] 


Ill 

DUCKS  AND  GEESE 

AMERICAN   MERGANSER;   SHELDRAKE;   GOOSANDER 

March  29,  1853.  Four  ducks,  two  by  two,  are  sail- 
ing conspicuously  on  the  river.  There  appear  to  be  two 
pairs.  In  each  case  one  two-thirds  white  and  another 
grayish-brown  and,  I  think,  smaller.  They  are  very  shy 
and  fly  at  fifty  rods'  distance.  Are  they  whistlers  ?  ^  .  .  . 
Would  it  not  be  well  to  carry  a  spy-glass  in  order  to 
watch  these  shy  birds  such  as  ducks  and  hawks .''  In 
some  respects,  methinks,  it  would  be  better  than  a  gun. 
The  latter  brings  them  nearer  dead,  but  the  former 
alive.  You  can  identify  the  species  better  by  killing 
the  bird,  because  it  was  a  dead  specimen  that  was  so 
minutely  described,  but  you  can  study  the  habits  and 
appearance  best  in  the  living  specimen.  These  ducks 
first  flew  north,  or  somewhat  against  the  wind  (was  it 
to  get  under  weigh?),  then  wheeled,  flew  nearer  me, 
and  went  south  up-stream,  where  I  saw  them  after- 
ward. 

April  23,  1854.  I  had  first  seen  two  white  ducks  far 
off  just  above  the  outlet  of  the  pond,  mistaking  them 

^  These  were  either  mergansers  or  the  golden-eye ;  I  think  the  for- 
mer, t.  e.  Mergus  serrator,  or  red-breasted  merganser  (?),  or  sheldrake. 
[Thoreau's  "  sheldrakes  "  were  doubtless  with  few  exceptions  Ameri- 
can mergansers  (Mergus  americanus) ,  which  species  is  much  commoner 
in  fresh  water  than  the  red-breasted.  His  descriptions  indicate  this 
Fpecies.] 


20     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

for  the  foaming  crest  of  a  wave.  These  flew  soon,  per- 
haps scared  by  the  eagle.  I  think  they  were  a  male  and 
female  red-breasted  merganser  (though  I  did  [not]  see 
the  red  of  the  breast),  for  I  saw  his  red  bill,  and  his 
head  was  not  large  with  a  crest  like  the  golden-eye ; 
very  white  on  breast  and  sides,  the  female  browner.^ 
As  ducks  often  do,  they  first  flew  directly  and  unhesi- 
tatingly up  the  stream,  low  over  the  water,  for  half  a 
mile,  then  turned  and  came  down,  flying  thirty  or  forty 
feet  above  the  water,  the  male  leading  till  they  were 
out  of  sight.  This  is  the  way  with  them,  I  notice ;  they 
first  fly  in  one  direction  and  thep  go  ofif  to  alight  in 
another.  When  they  came  down  the  river,  the  male 
leading,  they  were  a  very  good  example  of  the  peculiar 
flight  of  ducks.  They  appeared  perfectly  in  a  line  one 
behind  the  other.  When  they  are  not  they  preserve 
perfect  parallelism.  This  is  because  of  their  long  necks 
and  feet,  —  the  wings  appearing  to  be  attached  mid- 
way, —  and  moreover,  in  this  case,  of  their  perfectly 
level  flight,  as  if  learned  from  skimming  over  the 
water. 

April  6,  1855.  You  can  hear  all  day,  from  time  to 
time,  in  any  part  of  the  village,  the  sound  of  a  gun  fired 
at  ducks.  Yesterday  I  was  wishing  that  I  could  find  a 
dead  duck  floating  on  the  water,  as  I  had  found  musk- 
rats  and  a  hare,  and  now  I  see  something  bright  and 
reflecting  the  light  from  the  edge  of  the  alders  five  or 
six  rods  off.  Can  it  be  a  duck  ?  I  can  hardly  believe  my 
eyes.  I  am  near  enough  to  see  its  green  head  and  neck. 
I  am  delighted  to  find  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  Mcrgu& 

^  Certainly  mergansers,  probably  sheldrakes. 


AMERICAN   MERGANSER  21 

merganser,^  or  goosander,  undoubtedly  shot  yesterday 
by  the  Fast-Day  sportsmen,  and  I  take  a  small  flattened 
shot  from  its  wing, — flattened  against  the  wing-bone, 
apparently.  The  wing  is  broken,  and  it  is  shot  through 
the  head. 2  It  is  a  perfectly  fresh  and  very  beautiful  bird, 
and  as  I  raise  it,  I  get  sight  of  its  long,  slender  vermil- 
ion bill  (color  of  red  sealing-wax)  and  its  clean,  bright- 
orange  legs  and  feet,  and  then  of  its  perfectly  smooth 
and  spotlessly  pure  white  breast  and  belly,  tinged  with  a 
faint  salmon  (or  tinged  with  a  delicate  buff  inclining  to 
salmon).  .  .  .  My  bird  is  25|^  inches  long  and  35  in  alar 
extent ;  from  point  of  wing  to  end  of  primaries,  11  inches. 

It  is  a  great  diver  and  does  not  mind  the  cold.  It 
appears  admirably  fitted  for  diving  and  swimming.  Its 
body  is  flat,  and  its  tail  short,  flat,  compact,  and  wedge- 
shaped  ;  its  eyes  peer  out  a  slight  slit  or  semi-circle  in  the 
skin  of  the  head  ;  and  its  legs  are  flat  and  thin  in  one  di- 
rection, and  the  toes  shut  up  compactly  so  as  to  create 
the  least  friction  when  drawing  them  forward,  but  their 
broad  webs  spread  them  three  and  a  half  inches  when 
they  take  a  stroke.  The  web  is  extended  three  eighths 
of  an  inch  beyond  the  inner  toe  of  each  foot.  There  are 
very  conspicuous  black  teeth-like  serrations  along  the 
edges  of  its  bill,  and  this  also  is  roughened  so  that  it 
may  hold  its  prey  securely. 

The  breast  appeared  quite  dry  when  I  raised  it  from 
the  water. 

1  [The  American  species,  of  course,  now  known  as  Mergus  americanus  ] 

2  The  chief  wound  was  in  a  wing,  which  was  broken.  I  afterward 
took  three  small  shot  from  it,  which  were  flattened  against  the  bill's 
base  and  perhaps  (?)  the  quills'  shafts. 


22     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

The  head  and  neck  are,  as  Wilson  says,  black,  glossed 
with  green,  but  the  lower  part  of  the  neck  pure  white, 
and  these  colors  bound  on  each  other  so  abruptly  that 
one  appears  to  be  sewed  on  to  the  other. 

It  is  a  perfect  wedge  from  the  middle  of  its  body  to 
the  end  of  its  tail,  and  it  is  only  three  and  a  quarter 
inches  deep  from  back  to  breast  at  the  thickest  part, 
while  the  greatest  breadth  horizontally  (at  the  root  of 
the  legs)  is  five  and  a  half  inches.  In  these  respects  it 
reminds  me  of  an  otter,  which,  however,  I  have  never 
seen. 

I  suspect  that  I  have  seen  near  a  hundred  of  these 
birds  this  spring,  but  I  never  got  so  near  one  before. 

ApHl  7,  1855.  In  my  walk  in  the  afternoon  of  to- 
day, I  saw  from  Conantum,'  say  fifty  rods  distant,  two 
sheldrakes,  male  and  probably  female,  sailing  on  A. 
Wheeler's  cranberry  meadow.  I  saw  only  the  white  of 
the  male  at  first,  but  my  glass  revealed  the  female.  The 
male  is  easily  seen  a  great  distance  on  the  water,  being 
a  large  white  mark.  But  they  will  let  you  come  only 
within  some  sixty  rods  ordinarily.  I  observed  that  they 
were  uneasy  at  sight  of  me  and  began  to  sail  away  in 
different  directions.  I  could  plainly  see  the  vermilion 
bill  of  the  male  and  his  orange  legs  when  he  flew  (but 
he  appeared  all  white  above),  and  the  reddish  brown 
or  sorrel  of  the  neck  of  the  female,  and,  when  she  lifted 
herself  in  the  water,  as  it  were  preparatory  to  flight, 
her  white  breast  and  belly.  She  had  a  grayish  look  on 
the  sides.  Soon  they  approached  each  other  again  and 

*  [A  tract  of  land  on  the  Sudbury  River,  so  called  by  Thoreau  from 
the  Conant  family,  who  formerly  lived  there.] 


AMERICAN   MERGANSER  23 

seemed  to  be  conferring,  and  then  tliey  rose  and  went 
off,  at  first  low,  down-stream,  soon  up-stream  a  hundred 
feet  over  the  pond,  the  female  leading,  the  male  follow- 
ing close  behind,  the  black  at  the  end  of  his  curved 
wings  very  conspicuous.  I  suspect  that  about  all  the 
conspicuous  white  ducks  I  see  are  goosanders. 

I  skinned  my  duck  yesterday  and  stuffed  it  to-day. 
It  is  wonderful  that  a  man,  having  undertaken  such  an 
enterprise,  ever  persevered  in  it  to  the  end,  and  equally 
wonderful  that  he  succeeded.  To  skin  a  bird,  drawing 
backward,  wrong  side  out,  over  the  legs  and  wings 
down  to  the  base  of  the  mandibles  !  Who  would  expect 
to  see  a  smooth  feather  again?  This  skin  was  very  ten- 
der on  the  breast.  I  should  have  done  better  had  I 
stuffed  it  at  once  or  turned  it  back  before  the  skin  be- 
came stiff.  Look  out  not  to  cut  the  ear  and  eyelid. 

But  what  a  pot-bellied  thing  is  a  stuffed  bird  com- 
pared even  with  the  fresh  dead  one  I  found!  It  looks 
no  longer  like  an  otter,  like  a  swift  diver,  but  a  mere 
waddling  duck.  How  perfectly  the  vent  of  a  bird  is 
covered  !  There  is  no  mark  externally. 

April  10,  1855.  I  see  afar,  more  than  one  hundred 
rods  distant,  sailing  on  Hubbard's  meadow,  on  the 
smooth  water  in  the  morning  sun,  conspicuous,  two 
male  sheldrakes  and  apparently  one  female.  They  glide 
along,  a  rod  or  two  apart  in  shallow  water,  alternately 
passing  one  another  and  from  time  to  time  plunging 
their  heads  in  the  water,  but  the  female  (whom  only 
the  glass  reveals)  almost  alone  diving.  I  think  I  saw  one 
male  drive  the  other  back.  One  male  with  the  female 
kept  nearly  together,  a  rod  or  two  ahead  of  the  other. 


24     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

April  16,  1855.  At  Flint's/  sitting  on  the  rock,  we 
see  a  great  many  ducks,  mostly  sheldrakes,  on  the  pond, 
which  will  hardly  abide  us  within  half  a  mile.  With  the 
glass  I  see  by  their  reddish  heads  that  all  of  one  party 
—  the  main  body  —  are  females.  You  see  little  more 
than  their  heads  at  a  distance  and  not  much  white  but 
on  their  throats,  perchance.  When  they  fly,  they  look 
black  and  white,  but  not  so  large  nor  with  that  brilliant 
contrast  of  black  and  white  which  the  male  exhibits.  In 
another  direction  is  a  male  by  himself,  conspicuous,  per- 
haps several.  Anon  alights  near  us  a  flock  of  golden- 
eyes  —  surely^  with  their  great  black  (looking)  heads 
and  a  white  patch  on  the  side  ;  short  stumpy  bills  (after 
looking  at  the  mergansers) ;  much  clear  black,  contrast- 
ing with  much  clear  white.  Their  heads  and  bills  look 
ludicrously  short  and  parrot-like  after  the  others.  Our 
presence  and  a  boat  party  on  the  pond  at  last  drove 
nearly  all  the  ducks  into  the  deep  easterly  cove. 

We  stole  down  on  them  carefully  through  the  woods, 
at  last  crawling  on  our  bellies,  with  great  patience,  till 
at  last  we  found  ourselves  within  seven  or  eight  rods  — 
as  I  measured  afterward  —  of  the  great  body  of  them, 
and  watched  them  for  twenty  or  thirty  minutes  with  the 
glass  through  a  screen  of  cat-briar,  alders,  etc.  There 
were  twelve  female  sheldrakes  close  together,  and,  near- 
est us,  within  two  rods  of  the  shore,  where  it  was  very 
shallow,  two  or  more  constantly  moving  about  within 
about  the  diameter  of  a  rod  and  keeping  watch  while 
the  rest  were  trying  to  sleep,  —  to  catch  a  nap  with 
their  heads  in  their  backs ;  but  from  time  to  time  one 

'   [Flint's,  or  Sandy,  Pond,  in  Lincoln,  Mass.] 


AMERICAN   MERGANSER  25 

would  wake  up  enough  to  plume  himself.  It  seemed  as 
if  they  must  have  been  broken  of  their  sleep  and  were 
trying  to  make  it  up,  having  an  arduous  journey  before 
them,  for  we  had  seen  them  all  disturbed  and  on  the 
wing  within  half  an  hour.  They  were  headed  various 
ways.  Now  and  then  they  seemed  to  see  or  hear  or  smell 
us,  and  uttered  a  low  note  of  alarm,  something  like  the 
note  of  a  tree-toad,  but  very  faint,  or  perhaps  a  little 
more  wiry  and  like  that  of  pigeons,  but  the  sleepers 
hardly  lifted  their  heads  for  it.  How  fit  that  this  note 
of  alarm  should  be  made  to  resemble  the  croaking  of  a 
frog  and  so  not  betray  them  to  the  gunners  !  They  ap- 
peared to  sink  about  midway  in  the  water,  and  their 
heads  were  all  a  rich  reddish  brown,  their  throats  white. 
Now  and  then  one  of  the  watchmen  would  lift  his  head 
and  turn  his  bill  directly  upward,  showing  his  white 
throat. 

There  were  some  black  or  dusky  ducks  in  company 
with  them  at  first,  apparently  about  as  large  as  they, 
but  more  alarmed.  Their  throats  looked  straw-colored, 
somewhat  like  a  bittern's,  and  I  saw  their  shovel  bills. 
These  soon  sailed  further  off. 

At  last  we  arose  and  rushed  to  the  shore  within  three 
rods  of  them,  and  they  rose  up  with  a  din,  —  twenty- 
six  mergansers  (I  think  all  femailes),  ten  black  ducks, 
—  and  five  golden-eyes  from  a  little  further  off,  also 
another  still  more  distant  flock  of  one  of  these  kinds. 
The  black  ducks  alone  uttered  a  sound,  their  usual 
hoarse  quack.  They  all  flew  in  loose  array,  but  the  three 
kinds  in  separate  flocks.  We  were  surprised  to  find 
ourselves   looking  on  a  company  of  birds  devoted  to 


26     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

slumber  after  the  alarm  and  activity  we  had  just 
witnessed. 

March  1,  1856.  It  is  remarkable  that  though  I  have 
not  been  able  to  find  any  open  place  in  the  river  almost 
all  winter,  except  under  the  further  stone  bridge  and  at 
Loring's  Brook,  —  this  winter  so  remarkable  for  ice  and 
snow,  —  Coombs  *  should  (as  he  says)  have  killed  two 
sheldrakes  at  the  falls  by  the  factory,^  a  place  which  I 
had  forgotten,  some  four  or  six  weeks  ago.  Singular  that 
this  hardy  bird  should  have  found  this  small  opening, 
which  I  had  forgotten,  while  the  ice  everywhere  else  was 
from  one  to  two  feet  thick,  and  the  snow  sixteen  inches 
on  a  level.  If  there  is  a  crack  amid  the  rocks  of  some 
waterfall,  this  bright  diver  is  sure  to  know  it.  Ask  the 
sheldrake  whether  the  rivers  are  completely  sealed  up. 

April  5,  1856.  Saw  half  a  dozen  white  sheldrakes  in 
the  meadow,  where  Nut  Meadow  Brook  was  covered 
witli  the  flood.  There  were  two  or  three  females  with 
them.  These  ducks  would  all  swim  together  first  a  little 
way  to  the  right,  then  suddenly  turn  together  and  swim 
to  the  left,  from  time  to  time  making  the  water  fly  in  a 
white  spray,  apparently  with  awing.  Nearly  half  a  mile 
off  I  could  see  their  green  crests  in  the  sun.  They  were 
partly  concealed  by  some  floating  pieces  of  ice  and  snow, 
which  they  resembled. 

April  24,  1856.  A  Garfield  (I  judge  from  his  face) 
confirmed  the  story  of  sheldrakes  killed  in  an  open 
place  in  the  river  between  the  factory  and  Harrington's, 
just  after  the  first  great  snow-storm  (which  must  have 

^  [A  Concord  man,  one  of  the  pigeon-catchers.] 
2  [On  the  Assabet  River.] 


AMERICAN   MERGANSER  27 

been  early  in  January)  when  the  river  was  all  frozen 
elsewhere.  There  were  three,  and  they  persisted  in 
staying  and  fishing  there.  He  killed  one. 

March  27,  1858.  P.  M.  —  Sail  to  Bittern  Cliff. 

Scare  up  a  flock  of  sheldrakes  just  off  Fair  Haven 
Hill,  the  conspicuous  white  ducks,  sailing  straight 
hither  and  thither.  At  first  they  fly  low  up  the  stream, 
but,  having  risen,  come  back  half-way  to  us,  then  wheel 
and  go  up-stream.  Soon  after  we  scare  up  a  flock  of 
black  ducks.  We  land  and  steal  over  the  hill  through 
the  woods,  expecting  to  find  them  under  Lee's  Cliff,  as 
indeed  we  do,  having  crawled  over  the  hill  through 
the  woods  on  our  stomachs ;  and  there  we  watched 
various  water-fowl  for  an  hour.  There  are  a  dozen 
sheldrakes  (or  goosanders)  and  among  them  four  or 
five  females.  They  are  now  pairing.  I  should  say  one 
or  two  pairs  are  made.  At  first  we  see  only  a  male  and 
female  quite  on  the  alert,  some  way  out  on  the  pond, 
tacking  back  and  forth  and  looking  every  way.  They 
keep  close  together,  headed  one  way,  and  when  one 
turns  the  other  also  turns  quickly.  The  male  appears 
to  take  the  lead.  Soon  the  rest  appear,  sailing  out  from 
the  shore  into  sight.  We  hear  a  squeaking  note,  as  if 
made  by  a  pump,  and  presently  see  four  or  five  great 
herring  gulls  wheeling  about.  Sometimes  they  make  a 
sound  like  the  scream  of  a  hen-hawk.  They  are  shaped 
somewhat  like  a  very  thick  white  rolling-pin,  sharpened 
at  both  ends.  At  length  they  alight  near  the  ducks. 

The  sheldrakes  at  length  acquire  confidence,  come 
close  inshore  and  go  to  preening  themselves,  or  it  may 
be  they  are  troubled  with  lice.  They  are  all  busy  about 


28     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

it  at  once,  continually  thrusting  their  bills  into  their 
backs,  still  sailing  slowly  along  back  and  forth  offshore. 
Sometimes  they  are  in  two  or  three  straight  lines.  Now 
they  will  all  seem  to  be  crossing  the  pond,  but  pre- 
sently you  see  that  they  have  tacked  and  are  all  head- 
ing this  way  again.  Among  them,  or  near  by,  I  at 
length  detect  three  or  four  whistlers,  by  their  wanting 
the  red  bill,  being  considerably  smaller  and  less  white, 
having  a  white  spot  on  the  head,  a  black  back,  and 
altogether  less  white,  and  also  keeping  more  or  less 
apart  and  not  diving  when  the  rest  do.  Now  one  half 
the  sheldrakes  sail  off  southward  and  suddenly  go  to 
diving  as  with  one  consent.  Seven  or  eight  or  the 
whole  of  the  party  will  be  under  water  and  lost  at 
once.  In  the  meanwhile,  coming  up,  they  chase  one 
another,  scooting  over  the  surface  and  making  the 
water  fly,  sometimes  three  or  four  making  a  rush 
toward  one. 

The  sheldrake  has  a  peculiar  long  clipper  look,  often 
moving  rapidly  straight  forward  over  the  water.  It 
sinks  to  very  various  depths  in  the  water  sometimes, 
as  when  apparently  alarmed,  showing  only  its  head 
and  neck  and  the  upper  part  of  its  back,  and  at  others, 
when  at  ease,  floating  buoyantly  on  the  surface,  as  if 
it  had  taken  in  more  air,  showing  all  its  white  breast 
and  the  white  along  its  sides.  Sometimes  it  lifts  itself 
up  on  the  surface  and  flaps  its  wings,  revealing  its 
whole  rosaceous  breast  and  its  lower  parts,  and  look- 
ing in  form  like  a  penguin.  When  I  first  saw  them 
fly  up-stream  I  suspected  that  they  had  gone  to  Fair 


AMERICAN  MERGANSER  29 

Haven  Pond  and  would  alight  under  the  lee  of  the 
Cliff.  So,  creeping  slowly  down  through  the  woods 
four  or  five  rods,  I  was  enabled  to  get  a  fair  sight  of 
them,  and  finally  we  sat  exposed  on  the  rocks  within 
twenty-five  xods.  They  appear  not  to  observe  a  person 
so  high  above  them. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  a  pair  of  them  tacking 
about,  always  within  a  foot  or  two  of  each  other  and 
heading  the  same  way,  now  on  this  short  tack,  now  on 
that,  the  male  taking  the  lead,  sinking  deep  and  looking 
every  way.  When  the  whole  twelve  had  come  together 
they  would  soon  break  up  again,  and  were  continually 
changing  their  ground,  though  not  diving,  now  sailing 
slowly  this  way  a  dozen  rods,  and  now  that,  and  now 
coming  in  near  the  shore.  Then  they  would  all  go  to 
preening  themselves,  thrusting  their  bills  into  their 
backs  and  keeping  up  such  a  brisk  motion  that  you 
could  not  get  a  fair  sight  of  one's  head.  From  time  to 
time  you  heard  a  slight  titter,  not  of  alarm,  but  perhaps 
a  breeding-note,  for  they  were  evidently  selecting  their 
mates.  I  saw  one  scratch  its  ear  or  head  with  its  foot. 
Then  it  was  surprising  to  see  how,  briskly  sailing  off 
one  side,  they  went  to  diving,  as  if  they  had  suddenly 
come  across  a  school  of  minnows.  A  whole  company 
would  disappear  at  once,  never  rising  high  as  before. 
Now  for  nearly  a  minute  there  is  not  a  feather  to  be 
seen,  and  the  next  minute  you  see  a  party  of  half  a 
dozen  there,  chasing  one  another  and  making  the  water 
fly  far  and  wide. 

When  returning,  we  saw,  near  the  outlet  of  the  pond, 
seven  or  eight  sheldrakes  standing  still  in  a  line  on  the 


30     NOTES   ON   NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

edge  of  the  ice,  and  others  swimming  close  by.  They 
evidently  love  to  stand  on  the  ice  for  a  change. 

March  30,  1858.  Landing  at  Bittern  Cliff,  I  went 
round  through  the  woods  to  get  sight  of  ducks  on  the 
pond.  Creeping  down  through  the  woods,  I  reached  the 
rocks,  and  saw  fifteen  or  twenty  sheldrakes  scattered 
about.  The  full-plumaged  males,  conspicuously  black 
and  white  and  often  swimming  in  pairs,  appeared  to  be 
the  most  wary,  keeping  furthest  out.  Others,  with  much 
less  white  and  duller  black,  were  very  busily  fishing 
just  north  the  inlet  of  the  pond,  where  there  is  about 
three  feet  of  water,  and  others  still  playing  and  preen- 
ing themselves.  These  ducks,  whose  tame  representa- 
tives are  so  sluggish  and  deliberate  in  their  motions, 
were  full  of  activity.  A  party  of  these  ducks  fishing 
and  playing  is  a  very  lively  scene.  On  one  side,  for  in- 
stance, you  will  see  a  party  of  eight  or  ten  busily  diving 
and  most  of  the  time  under  water,  not  rising  high  when 
they  come  up,  and  soon  plunging  again.  The  whole  sur- 
face will  be  in  commotion  there,  though  no  ducks  may 
be  seen.  I  saw  one  come  up  with  a  large  fish,  where- 
upon all  the  rest,  as  they  successively  came  to  the  sur- 
face, gave  chase  to  it,  while  it  held  its  prey  over  the 
water  in  its  bill,  and  they  pursued  with  a  great  rush 
and  clatter  a  dozen  or  more  rods  over  the  surface,  mak- 
ing a  great  furrow  in  the  water,  but,  there  being  some 
trees  in  the  way,  I  could  not  see  the  issue.  I  saw  seven 
or  eight  all  dive  together  as  with  one  consent,  remain- 
ing under  half  a  minute  or  more.  On  another  side  you 
see  a  party  which  seem  to  be  playing  and  pluming 
themselves.  They  will  run  and  dive  and  come  up  and 


AMERICAN   MERGANSER  31 

dive  again  every  three  or  four  feet,  occasionally  one 
pursuing  another ;  will  flutter  in  the  water,  making  it 
fly,  or  erect  themselves  at  full  length  on  the  surface 
like  a  penguin,  and  flap  their  wings.  This  party  make 
an  incessant  noise.  Again  you  will  see  some  steadily 
tacking  this  way  or  that  in  the  middle  of  the  pond,  and 
often  they  rest  there  asleep  with  their  heads  in  their 
backs.  They  readily  cross  the  pond,  swimming  from 
this  side  to  that. 

April  19,  1858.  Rice  tells  me  of  winging  a  sheldrake 
once  just  below  Fair  Haven  Pond,  and  pursuing  it  in 
a  boat  as  it  swam  down  the  stream,  till  it  went  ashore 
at  Hubbard's  Wood  and  crawled  into  a  woodchuck's 
hole  about  a  rod  from  the  water  on  a  wooded  bank.  He 
could  see  its  tail  and  pulled  it  out. 

JIarch  23,  1859.  As  we  sit  there,  we  see  coming, 
swift  and  straight,  northeast  along  the  river  valley,  not 
seeing  us  and  therefore  not  changing  his  course,  a  male 
goosander,  so  near  that  the  green  reflections  of  his  head 
and  neck  are  plainly  visible.  He  looks  like  a  paddle- 
wheel  steamer,  so  oddly  painted  up,  black  and  white 
and  green,  and  moves  along  swift  and  straight  like  one. 
Ere  long  the  same  returns  with  his  mate,  the  red- 
throated,  the  male  taking  the  lead. 

March  30,  1859.  See  on  Walden  two  sheldrakes, 
male  and  female,  as  is  common.  So  they  have  for  some 
time  paired.  They  are  a  hundred  rods  off.  The  male 
the  larger,  with  his  black  head  and  white  breast,  the 
female  with  a  red  head.  With  my  glass  I  see  the  long 
red  bills  of  both.  They  swim  at  first  one  way  near  to- 
gether, then  tack  and  swim  the  other,  looking  around 


32     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

incessantly,  never  quite  at  their  ease,  wary  and  watch- 
ful for  foes.  A  man  cannot  walk  down  to  the  shore  or 
stand  out  on  a  hill  overlooking  the  pond  without  dis- 
turbing them.  They  will  have  an  eye  upon  him.  The 
locomotive-whistle  makes  every  wild  duck  start  that  is 
floating  within  the  limits  of  the  town.  I  see  that  these 
ducks  are  not  here  for  protection  alone,  for  at  last  they 
both  dive,  and  remain  beneath  about  forty  pulse-beats, 
—  and  again,  and  again.  I  think  they  are  looking  for 
fishes.  Perhaps,  therefore,  these  divers  are  more  likely 
to  alight  in  Walden  than  the  black  ducks  are. 

April  2,  1859.  From  near  this  cliff,  I  watch  a  male 
sheldrake  in  the  river  with  my  glass.  It  is  very  busily 
pluming  itself  while  it  sails  about,  and  from  time  to 
time  it  raises  itself  upright  almost  entirely  out  of  water, 
showing  its  rosaceous  breast.  It  is  some  sixty  rods  off, 
yet  I  can  see  the  red  bill  distinctly  when  it  is  turned 
against  its  white  body.  Soon  after  I  see  two  more,  and 
one,  which  I  think  is  not  a  female,  is  more  gray  and 
far  less  distinctly  black  and  white  than  the  other.  I 
think  it  is  a  young  male  and  that  it  might  be  called  by 
some  a  gray  duck.  However,  if  you  show  yourself  within 
sixty  rods,  they  will  fly  or  swim  off,  so  shy  are  they. 
Yet  in  the  fall  I  sometimes  get  close  upon  a  young 
bird,  which  dashes  swiftly  across  or  along  the  river  and 
dives. 

Aiiril  12,  1859.  Saw  a  duck,  apparently  a  sheldrake, 
at  the  northeast  end  of  Cyanean  Meadow,  It  disap- 
peared at  last  by  diving,  and  I  could  not  find  it.  But 
I  saw  what  looked  like  a  ripple  made  by  the  wind, 
which  moved  slowly  down  the  river  at  least  forty  rods 


AMEKICAN  MERGANSER  33 

toward  the  shore  and  there  disappeared.  Though  I  saw 
no  bird  there,  I  suspect  that  the  ripple  was  made  by  it. 
Two  sheldrakes  flew  away  from  this  one  when  first  ob- 
served. Why  did  this  remain?  Was  it  wounded?  Or 
can  those  which  dart  so  swiftly  across  the  river  and 
dive  be  another  species  and  not  the  young  of  the  sea- 
son or  females  of  the  common  one  ?  Is  it  not,  after  all, 
the  red-breasted  merganser,  and  did  I  not  see  them  in 
Maine?  ^ 

I  see  half  a  dozen  sheldrakes  very  busily  fishing 
around  the  base  of  Lupine  Hill  or  Promontory.  There 
are  two  full-plumaged  males  and  the  rest  females,  or 
perhaps  some  of  them  young  males.  They  are  coasting 
along  swiftly  with  their  bodies  sunk  low  and  their  heads 
half  under,  looking  for  their  prey,  one  behind  another, 
frequently  turning  and  passing  over  the  same  ground 
again.  Their  crests  are  very  conspicuous,  thus  : 
When  one  sees  a  fish  he  at  first  swims  rapidly 
after  it,  and  then,  if  necessary,  flies  close  over  the  water 
after  it,  and  this  excites  all  the  rest  to  follow,  swimming 
or  flying,  and  if  one  seizes  the  fish,  which  1  suspect  is 
commonly  a  pickei-el,  they  all  pursue  the  lucky  fisher, 
and  he  makes  the  water  fly  far  in  his  efforts  to  get  away 
and  gulp  down  his  fish.  I  can  see  the  fish  in  his  bill 
all  the  while,  and  he  must  swallow  it  very  skillfully 
and  quickly,  if  at  all.  I  was  first  attracted  to  them  by 
seeing  these  great  birds  rushing,  shooting,  thus  swiftly 
through  the  air  and  water  and  throwing  the  water  high 
about  them.    Sometimes  they  dive  and  swim  quietly 

■'  [If  the  males  as  well  as  the  females  had  the  crests  mentioned  later 
the  birds  were,  of  course,  red-breasted  mergansers.] 


34    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

beneath,  looking  for  their  game.  At  length  they  spy 
me  or  my  boat,  and  I  hear  a  faint  quack  indicative 
of  alarm,  and  suddenly  all  arise  and  go  off.  In  the 
meanwhile  I  see  two  black  ducks  sailing  with  them 
along  the  shore.  These  look  considerably  smaller,  and 
of  course  carry  their  heads  more  erect.  They  have  a 
raw,  gosling  look  beside  the  others,  and  I  see  their 
light  bills  against  their  dusky  necks  and  heads.  At 
length,  when  I  get  near  them,  I  hear  their  peculiar 
quack  also,  and  off  they  go.  The  sheldrakes  appear  to 
be  a  much  more  lively  bird  than  the  black  duck.  How 
different  from  the  waddling  domestic  duck !  The  former 
are  all  alive,  eagerly  fishing,  quick  as  thought,  as  they 
need  to  be  to  catch  a  pickerel. 

Feb.  27,  1860.  I  had  noticed  for  some  time,  far  in  the 
middle  of  the  Great  Meadows,  something  dazzlingly 
white,  which  I  took,  of  course,  to  be  a  small  cake  of  ice 
on  its  end,  but  now  that  I  have  climbed  the  pitch  pine 
hill  and  can  overlook  the  whole  meadow,  I  see  it  to  be 
the  white  breast  of  a  male  sheldrake,  accompanied  per- 
haps by  his  mate  (a  darker  one).  They  have  settled 
warily  in  the  very  midst  of  the  meadow,  where  the  wind 
has  blown  a  space  of  clear  water  for  an  acre  or  two.  The 
aspect  of  the  meadow  is  sky-blue  and  dark-blue,  the 
former  a  thin  ice,  the  latter  the  spaces  of  open  water 
which  the  wind  has  made,  but  it  is  chiefly  ice  still. 
Thus,  as  soon  as  the  river  breaks  up  or  begins  to  break 
up  fairly,  and  the  strong  wind  widening  the  cracks 
makes  at  length  open  spaces  in  the  ice  of  the  meadow, 
this  hardy  bird  ajjpears,  and  is  seen  sailing  in  the  first 
widened  crack    in  the  ice,  where  it  can  come  at  the 


AMERICAN   MERGANSER  35 

water.  Instead  of  a  piece  of  ice  I  find  it  to  be  the  breast 
of  the  sheldrake,  which  so  reflects  the  light  as  to  look 
larger  than  it  is,  steadily  sailing  this  way  and  that  with 
its  companion,  who  is  diving  from  time  to  time.  They 
have  chosen  the  opening  farthest  removed  from  all 
shores.  As  I  look  I  see  the  ice  drifting  in  upon  them 
and  contracting  their  water,  till  finally  they  have  but  a 
few  square  rods  left,  while  there  ai-e  forty  or  fifty  acres 
near  by.  This  is  the  first  bird  of  the  spring  that  I  have 
seen  or  heard  of. 

March  16, 1860.  Saw  a  flock  of  sheldrakes  a  hundred 
rods  off,  on  the  Great  Meadows,  mostly  males  with  a 
few  females,  all  intent  on  fishing.  They  were  coasting 
along  a  spit  of  bare  ground  that  showed  itself  in  the 
middle  of  the  meadow,  sometimes  the  whole  twelve 
apparently  in  a  straight  line  at  nearly  equal  distances 
apart,  with  each  its  head  under  water,  rapidly  coasting 
along  back  and  forth,  and  ever  and  anon  one,  having 
caught  something,  would  be  pursued  by  the  others.  It 
is  remarkable  that  they  find  their  finny  prey  on  the 
middle  of  the  meadow  now,  and  even  on  the  very  inmost 
side,  as  I  afterward  saw,  though  the  water  is  quite  low. 
Of  course,  as  soon  as  they  are  seen  on  the  meadows 
there  are  fishes  there  to  be  caught.  I  never  see  them 
fish  thus  in  the  channel.  Perhaps  the  fishes  lie  up  there 
for  warmth  already. 

March  17,  1860.  I  see  a  large  flock  of  sheldrakes, 
which  have  probably  risen  from  the  pond,  go  over  my 
head  in  the  woods.  A  dozen  large  and  compact  birds 
flying  with  great  force  and  rapidity,  spying  out  the  land, 
eyeing  every  traveller,  fast  and  far  they  "  steam  it "  on 


36    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

clipping  wings,  over  field  and  forest,  meadow  and  flood  ; 
now  here,  and  you  hear  the  whistling  of  their  wings, 
and  in  a  moment  they  are  lost  in  the  horizon.  Like  swift 
propellers  of  the  air.  Whichever  way  they  are  headed, 
that  way  their  wings  propel  them.  What  health  and 
vigor  they  suggest !  The  life  of  man  seems  slow  and 
puny  in  comparison, —  reptilian. 

[<See  also  under  Herring  Gull,  p.  15 ;  W^ild  Ducks, 
pp.  50,  51 ;  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  423.] 

BLACK    DUCK;    DUSKY   DUCK 

April  1,  1853.  Saw  ten  black  ducks  at  Clamshell. 
Had  already  started  two,  who  probably  occupied  an 
outpost.  They  all  went  off  with  a  loud  and  disagreeable 
quacking  like  ducks  in  a  poultry-yard,  their  wings  ap- 
pearing lighter  beneath. 

March  21, 1854.  At  sunrise  to  Clamshell  Hill. 

River  skimmed  over  at  Willow  Bay  last  night. 
Thought  I  should  find  ducks  cornered  up  by  the  ice  ;  they 
get  behind  this  hill  for  shelter.  Saw  what  looked  like 
clods  of  plowed  meadow  rising  above  the  ice.  Looked 
with  glass  and  found  it  to  be  more  than  thirty  black 
ducks  asleep  with  their  heads  in  their  backs,  motion- 
less, and  thin  ice  formed  about  them.  Soon  one  or  two 
were  moving  about  slowly.  There  was  an  open  space,  eight 
or  ten  rods  by  one  or  two.  At  first  all  within  a  space  of 
apparently  less  than  a  rod  in  diameter.  It  was  6.30 
A.  M.,  and  the  sim  shining  on  them,  but  bitter  cold.  How 
tough  they  are !  I  crawled  far  on  my  stomach  and  got 
a  near  view  of  them,  thirty  rods  off.  At  length  they  de- 
tected me  and  quacked.  Some  got  out  upon  the  ice,  and 


BLACK   DUCK  37 

when  I  rose  up  all  took  to  flight  in  a  great  straggling 
flock  which  at  a  distance  looked  like  crows,  in  no  order. 
Yet,  when  you  see  two  or  three,  the  parallelism  pro- 
duced by  their  necks  and  bodies  steering  the  same  way 
gives  the  idea  of  order. 

April  21,  1855.  Watched  for  some  time  a  dozen 
black  ducks  on  the  meadow's  edge  in  a  retired  place, 
some  on  land  and  some  sailing.  Fifty  rods  off  and  with- 
out the  glass,  they  looked  like  crows  feeding  on  the 
meadow's  edge,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  tinge  of 
brown. 

I^eh.  29, 1856.  He  *  loves  to  recall  his  hunting  days 
and  adventures,  and  I  willingly  listen  to  the  stories  he 
has  told  me  half  a  dozen  times  already.  One  day  he  saw 
about  twenty  black  ducks  on  Goose  Pond,  and  stole 
down  on  them,  thinking  to  get  a  shot,  but  it  chanced 
that  a  stray  dog  scared  them  up  before  he  was  ready. 
He  stood  on  the  point  of  the  neck  of  land  between 
the  ponds,  and  watched  them  as  they  flew  high  toward 
Flint's  Pond.  As  he  looked,  he  saw  one  separate  from 
the  flock  when  they  had  got  half-way  to  Flint's  Pond,  or 
half  a  mile,  and  return  straight  toward  Goose  Pond  again. 
He  thought  he  would  await  him,  and  give  him  a  shot  if 
he  came  near  enough.  As  he  flew  pretty  near  and  rather 
low,  he  fired,  whereupon  the  duck  rose  right  up  high 
into  the  air,  and  he  saw  by  his  motions  that  he  was 
wounded.  Suddenly  he  dropped,  by  a  slanting  fall,  into 
the  point  of  a  thick  pine  wood,  and  he  heard  him  plainly 
strike  the  ground  like  a  stone.  He  went  there  and 
searched  for  a  long  time,  and  was  about  giviug  it  up, 
^  [George  Minott.] 


38     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

when  at  length  he  saw  the  duck  standing,  still  alive  and 
bleeding,  by  the  side  of  a  stump,  and  made  out  to  kill 
liim  with  a  stick  before  he  could  reach  the  water. 

April  9,  1856.  Paddled  quite  to  the  head  of  Pinxter 
Swamp,  where  were  two  black  ducks  amid  the  maples, 
which  went  off  with  a  hoarse  quacking,  leaving  a  feather 
on  the  smooth  dark  water  amid  the  fallen  tree-tops  and 
over  the  bottom  of  red  leaves. 

April  14,  1856.  There  go  a  couple  of  ducks,  which 
probably  I  have  started,  now  scaling  far  away  on  mo- 
tionless pinions,  with  a  slight  descent  in  their  low  flight, 
toward  some  new  cove.  Anon  I  scare  up  two  black  ducks 
which  make  one  circle  around  me,  reconnoitring  and 
rising  higher  and  higher,  then  go  down  the  river.  Is  it 
they  that  so  commonly  practice  this  manceuvre  ? 

June  23,  1857.  Skinner,  the  harness-maker,  tells  me 
that  he  found  a  black  duck's  nest  Sunday  before  the  last, 
i.  e.  the  14th,  with  perhaps  a  dozen  eggs  in  it,  a  mere 
hollow  on  the  top  of  a  tussock,  four  or  five  feet  within 
a  clump  of  bushes  forming  an  islet  (in  the  spring)  in 
Hubbard's  great  meadow.  He  scared  up  the  duck  when 
within  a  few  feet.  .  .  . 

P.  M.  —  Looked  for  the  black  duck's  nest,  but  could 
find  no  trace  of  it.  Probably  the  duck  led  her  young  to 
the  river  as  soon  as  hatched.  What  with  gunners, dogs, 
pickerel,  bullfrogs,  hawks,  etc.,  it  is  a  wonder  if  any  of 
them  escape. 

«/zf 7ie  24, 1857.  Melvin^  thinks  there  cannot  be  many 
black  ducks'  nests  in  the  town,  else  his  dog  would  find 
them,  for  he  will  follow  their  trail  as  well  as  another 

^   [George  Melvin,  a  Concord  gunner  and  fisherman.] 


BLACK   DUCK  39 

bird's,  or  a  fox.  The  dog  once  caught  five  black  ducks 
here  but  partly  grown. 

July  2),  1857.  Minott  says  that  old  Joe  Merriam  used 
to  tell  of  his  shooting  black  ducks  in  the  Dam  meadows 
and  what  luck  he  had.  One  day  he  had  shot  a  couple  of 
ducks  and  was  bringing  them  home  by  the  legs,  when 
he  came  to  a  ditch.  As  he  had  his  gun  in  the  other 
hand,  and  the  ditch  was  wide,  he  thought  he  would 
toss  the  ducks  over  before  he  jumped,  but  they  had  no 
sooner  struck  the  ground  than  they  picked  themselves 
up  and  flew  away,  which  discouraged  him  with  respect 
to  duck-shooting. 

Oct.  14,  1857.  Approaching  White  Pond  by  the 
path,  I  see  on  its  perfectly  smooth  surface  what  I  at 
first  mistake  for  a  large  raft  of  dead  and  black  logs  and 
limbs,  but  it  soon  elevates  itself  in  the  form  of  a  large 
flock  of  black  ducks,  which  go  off  with  a  loud  quacking. 

March  31,  1858.  I  see  about  a  dozen  black  ducks  on 
Flint's  Pond,  asleep  with  their  heads  in  their  backs  and 
drifting  across  the  pond  before  the  wind.  I  suspect  that 
they  are  nocturnal  in  their  habits  and  therefore  require 
much  rest  by  day.  So  do  the  seasons  revolve  and  every 
chink  is  filled.  While  the  waves  toss  this  bright  day, 
the  ducks,  asleep,  are  drifting  before  it  across  the  ponds. 
Every  now  and  then  one  or  two  lift  their  heads  and  look 
about,  as  if  they  watched  by  turns.  .  .  .  The  leaves  are 
now  so  dry  and  loose  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  ap- 
proach the  shore  of  the  pond  without  being  heard  by 
the  ducks. 

April  2, 1858.  See  how  those  black  ducks,  swimming 
in  pairs  far  off  on  the  river,  are  disturbed  by  our  ap- 


40    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

pearance,  swimming  away  in  alarm,  and  now,  when  we 
advance  again,  they  rise  and  fly  up-stream  and  about, 
uttering  regularly  a  crack  cr-r-rack  of  alarm,  even  for 
five  or  ten  minutes,  as  they  circle  about,  long  after  we 
have  lost  sight  of  them.  Now  we  hear  it  on  this  side, 
now  on  that. 

[xS'ee  also  under  Herring  Gull,  pp.  13, 15  ;  American 
Merganser,  pp.  25,  34 ;  Wild  Goose,  p.  60 ;  General 
and  Miscellaneous,  p.  418.] 

WOOD  duck;  summer  duck 

Oct.  29,  1887.  Two  ducks,  of  the  summer  or  wood 
species,  which  were  merrily  dabbling  in  their  favorite 
basin  [at  Goose  Pond],  struck  up  a  retreat  on  my 
approach,  and  seemed  disposed  to  take  French  leave, 
paddling  off  with  swan-like  majesty.  They  are  first-rate 
swimmers,  beating  me  at  a  round  pace,  and  —  what 
was  to  me  a  new  trait  in  the  duck  character  —  dove 
every  minute  or  two  and  swam  several  feet  under  water, 
in  order  to  escape  our  attention.^  Just  before  immersion 
they  seemed  to  give  each  other  a  significant  nod,  and 
then,  as  if  by  a  common  understanding,  't  was  heels  up 
and  head  down  in  the  shaking  of  a  duck's  wing.  When 
they  reappeared,  it  was  amusing  to  observe  with  what  a 
self-satisfied,  darn-it-how-he-nicks-'em  air  they  paddled 
off  to  repeat  the  experiment. 

Aug.  6, 1855.  At  Ball's  Hill  see  five  summer  ducks, 
a  brood  now  grown,  feeding  amid  the  pads  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  river,  with  a  whitish  ring,  perhaps 

^  [Wood  ducks  do  not  commonly  dive.  Thoreau  may  have  been  mis- 
taken as  to  the  species.] 


WOOD  DUCK;   SUMMER   DUCK      41 

nearly  around  neck.  A  rather  shrill  squeaking  quack 
when  they  go  off.  It  is  remarkable  how  much  more 
game  you  will  see  if  you  are  in  the  habit  of  sitting  in  the 
fields  and  woods.  As  you  pass  along  with  a  noise  it  hides 
itself,  but  presently  comes  forth  again. 

iVbv.  9,  1855.  Saw  in  the  pool  at  the  Hemlocks  what 
I  at  first  thought  was  a  brighter  leaf  moved  by  the 
zephyr  on  the  surface  of  the  smooth  dark  water,  but  it 
was  a  splendid  male  summer  duck,  which  allowed  us  to 
approach  within  seven  or  eight  rods,  sailing  up  close  to 
the  shore,  and  then  rose  and  flew  up  the  curving  stream. 
We  soon  overhauled  it  again,  and  got  a  fair  and  long 
view  of  it.  It  was  a  splendid  bird,  a  perfect  floating 
gem,  and  Blake, ^  who  had  never  seen  the  like,  was 
greatly  surprised,  not  knowing  that  so  splendid  a  bird 
was  found  in  this  part  of  the  world.  There  it  was,  con- 
stantly moving  back  and  forth  by  invisible  means  and 
wheeling  on  the  smooth  surface,  showing  now  its  breast, 
now  its  side,  now  its  rear.  It  had  a  large,  rich,  flowing, 
green  burnished  crest,  —  a  most  ample  head-dress,  — 
two  crescents  of  dazzling  white  on  the  side  of  the  head 
and  the  black  neck,  a  pinkish(?)-red  bill  (with  black 
tip)  and  similar  irides,  and  a  long  white  mark  under 
and  at  wing  point  on  sides  ;  the  side,  as  if  the  form  of 
wing  at  this  distance,  light  bronze  or  greenish  brown  ; 
but,  above  all,  its  breast,  when  it  turns  into  the  right 
light,  all  aglow  with  splendid  purple  (?)  or  ruby  (?) 
reflections,  like  the  throat  of  the  hummingbird.  It 
might  not  appear  so  close  at  hand.  This  was  the  most 
surprising  to  me.  What  an  ornament  to  a  river  to  see 

^  [Thoreau's  friend  Harrison  G.  0.  Blake  of  Worcester,  Mass.] 


42     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

that  glowing  gem  floating  in  contact  with  its  waters ! 
As  if  the  hummingbird  should  recline  its  ruby  throat 
and  its  breast  on  the  water.  Like  dipping  a  glowing  coal 
in  water  !  It  so  affected  me. 

It  became  excited,  fluttered  or  flapped  its  wings  with 
a  slight  whistling  noise,  and  arose  and  flew  two  or  three 
rods  and  alighted.  It  sailed  close  up  to  the  edge  of  a 
rock,  by  which  it  lay  pretty  still,  and  finally  sailed  fast 
up  one  side  of  the  river  by  the  willows,  etc.,  off  the 
duck  swamp  beyond  the  spring,  now  and  then  turning 
and  sailing  back  a  foot  or  two,  while  we  paddled  up  the 
opposite  side  a  rod  in  the  rear,  for  twenty  or  thirty 
rods.  At  length  we  went  by  it,  and  it  flew  back  low  a 
few  rods  to  where  we  roused  It.  It  never  offered  to  dive. 
We  came  equally  near  it  again  on  our  return.  Unless 
you  are  thus  near,  and  have  a  glass,  the  splendor  and 
beauty  of  its  colors  will  not  be  discovered. 

That  duck  was  all  jewels  combined,  showing  differ- 
ent lustres  as  it  turned  on  the  unrippled  element  in 
various  lights,  now  brilliant  glossy  green,  now  dusky 
violet,  now  a  rich  bronze,  now  the  reflections  that  sleep 
in  the  ruby's  grain. 

Aug.  3,  1856.  Two  small  ducks  (probably  wood 
ducks)  flying  south.  Already  grown,  and  at  least  look- 
ing south  ! !  It  reminds  me  of  the  swift  revolution  of 
the  seasons. 

Arig.  16,  1858.  In  my  boating  of  late  I  have  sev- 
eral times  scared  up  a  couple  of  summer  ducks  of  this 
year,  bred  in  our  meadows.  They  allowed  me  to  come 
quite  near,  and  helped  to  people  the  river.  I  have  not 


WOOD   DUCK;   SUMMER   DUCK       43 

seen  them  for  some  days.  Would  you  know  the  end  of 

our  intercourse?  Goodwin  shot  them,  and  Mrs. , 

who  never  sailed  on  the  river,  ate  them.  Of  course, 
she  knows  not  what  she  did.  What  if  I  should  eat  her 
canary?  Thus  we  share  each  other's  sins  as  well  as 
burdens.  The  lady  who  watches  admiringly  the  matador 
shares  his  deed.  They  belonged  to  me,  as  much  as  to  any 
one,  when  they  were  alive,  but  it  was  considered  of  more 

importance  that  Mrs. should  taste  the  flavor  of  them 

dead  than  that  I  should  enjoy  the  beauty  of  them  alive. 
July  27,  1860.  See,  twenty  rods  or  more  down- 
stream, four  or  five  young  ducks,  which  appear  already 
to  be  disturbed  by  my  boat.  So,  leaving  that  to  attract 
their  attention,  I  make  my  way  alongshore  in  the  high 
grass  and  behind  the  trees  till  I  am  opposite  to  them. 
At  a  distance  they  appear  simply  black  and  white,  as 
they  swim  deep, — black  backs  and  white  throats.  Now 
I  find  that  they  have  retreated  a  little  into  the  ponte- 
deria,  and  are  very  busily  diving,  or  dipping,  not  im- 
mersing their  whole  bodies,  but  their  heads  and  shoul- 
ders while  their  bodies  are  perfectly  perpendicular,  just 
like  tame  ducks.  All  of  them  close  together  will  be  in 
this  attitude  at  the  same  moment.  I  now  see  that  the 
throat,  and  probably  upper  part,  at  least,  of  breast,  is 
clear-white,  and  there  is  a  clear  line  of  white  above  eye 
and  on  neck  within  a  line  of  black;  and  as  they  stand 
on  their  heads,  the  tips  apparently  of  their  tails  (pos- 
sibly wings??)  are  conspicuously  white  or  whitish;  the 
upper  part,  also,  is  seen  to  be  brownish  rather  than 
black.  I  presume  these  to  be  young  summer  ducks, 
though  so  dark ;  say  two-thirds  grown. 


44     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

How  easy  for  the  young  ducks  to  hide  amid  the  pick- 
erel-weed along  our  river,  while  a  boat  goes  by !  and 
this  plant  attains  its  height  when  these  water-fowl  are 
of  a  size  to  need  its  shelter.  Thousands  of  them  might 
be  concealed  by  it  along  our  river,  not  to  speak  of  the 
luxuriant  sedge  and  grass  of  the  meadows,  much  of  it 
so  wet  as  to  be  inaccessible.  These  ducks  are  diving 
scarcely  two  feet  within  the  edge  of  the  pickerdl-weed, 
yet  one  who  had  not  first  seen  them  exposed  from  a 
distance  would  never  suspect  their  neighborhood. 

Sej)t.  17,  1860.  See  a  flock  of  eight  or  ten  wood 
ducks  on  the  Grindstone  Meadow,  with  glass,  some 
twenty-five  rods  off,  —  several  drakes  very  handsome. 
They  utter  a  creaking  scream  as  they  sail  there, — 
being  alarmed,  —  from  time  to  time,  shrill  and  loud, 
very  unlike  the  black  duck.  At  last  one  sails  off,  call- 
ing the  others  by  a  short  creaking  note. 

[/S'ee  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  418, 
432,  433.] 

AMERICAN   GOLDEN-EYE;    WHISTLER 

[^See  under  American  Merganser,  pp.  24,  25,  28.] 

BUFFLE-HEAD  ;  BUFFLE-HEADED  DUCK 

April  19,  1855.  From  Heywood's  Peak  I  thought  I 
saw  the  head  of  a  loon  in  the  pond,  thirty-five  or  forty 
rods  distant.  Bringing  my  glass  to  bear,  it  seemed  sunk 
very  low  in  the  water,  —  all  the  neck  concealed,  — but 
I  could  not  tell  which  end  was  the  bill.  At  length  I 
discovered  that  it  was  the  whole  body  of  a  little  duck, 
asleep  with  its  head  in  its  back,  exactly  in  the  middle 


BUFFLE-HEAD  45 

of  the  pond.  It  had  a  moderate-sized  black  head  and 
neck,  a  white  breast,  and  seemed  dark-brown  above, 
with  a  white  spot  on  the  side  of  the  head,  not  reaching 
to  the  outside,  from  base  of  mandibles,  and  another, 
perhaps,  on  the  end  of  the  wing,  with  some  black  there. 
It  sat  drifting  round  a  little,  but  with  ever  its  breast  to- 
ward the  wind,  and  from  time  to  time  it  raised  its  head 
and  looked  round  to  see  if  it  were  safe.  I  think  it  was 
the  smallest  duck  lever  saw.  Floating  buoyantly  asleep 
on  the  middle  of  Walden  Pond.  Was  it  not  a  female 
of  the  buffle-headed  or  spirit  duck?  I  believed  the  wings 
looked  blacker  when  it  flew,  with  some  white  beneath. 
It  floated  like  a  little  casket,  and  at  first  I  doubted  a 
good  while  if  it  possessed  life,  until  I  saw  it  raise  its 
head  and  look  around.  It  had  chosen  a  place  for  its  nap 
exactly  equidistant  between  the  two  shores  there,  and, 
with  its  breast  to  the  wind,  swung  round  only  as  much 
as  a  vessel  held  by  its  anchors  in  the  stream.  At  length 
the  cars  scared  it. 

WILD   DUCKS  (species   UNNAMED) 

March  16,  1840.  The  ducks  alight  at  this  season  on 
the  windward  side  of  the  river,  in  the  smooth  water, 
and  swim  about  by  twos  and  threes,  pluming  themselves 
and  diving  to  peck  at  the  root  of  the  lily  and  the  cran- 
berries which  the  frost  has  not  loosened.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  approach  them  within  gunshot  when  they  are 
accompanied  by  the  gull,  which  rises  sooner  and  makes 
them  restless.  They  fly  to  windward  first,  in  order  to 
get  under  weigh,  and  are  more  easily  reached  by  the 
shot  if  approached  on  that  side.    When  preparing  to 


46     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

fly,  they  swim  about  witli  their  heads  erect,  and  then, 
gliding  along  a  few  feet  with  their  bodies  just  touching 
the  surface,  rise  heavily  with  much  splashing  and  fly 
low  at  first,  if  not  suddenly  aroused,  but  otherwise  rise 
directly  to  survey  the  danger.  The  cunning  sportsman 
is  not  in  haste  to  desert  his  position,  but  waits  to  ascer- 
tain if,  having  got  themselves  into  flying  trim,  they  will 
not  return  over  the  ground  in  their  course  to  a  new 
resting-place. 

April  10,  1852.  Took  boat  at  Stedman  Buttrick's,  a 
gunner's  boat,  smelling  of  rauskrats  and  provided  with 
slats  for  bushing  the  boat.  Having  got  into  the  Great 
Meadows,  after  grounding  once  or  twice  on  low  spits 
of  grass  ground,  we  begin  to  see  ducks  which  we  have 
scared,  flying  low  over  the  water,  always  with  a  striking 
parallelism  in  the  direction  of  their  flight.  They  fly  like 
regulars.  They  are  like  rolling-pins  with  wings.  A  few 
gulls,  sailing  like  hawks,  seen  against  the  woods  ;  crows  ; 
white-bellied  swallows  even  here,  already,  which,  I  sup- 
pose, proves  that  their  insect  food  is  in  the  air.  .  .  . 
Ducks  most  commonly  seen  flying  by  twos  or  threes. 

From  Carlisle  Bridge  we  saw  many  ducks  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  or  more  northward,  black  objects  on  the 
water,  and  heard  them  laugh  something  like  a  loon. 
Might  have  got  near  enough  to  shoot  them.  A  fine  sight 
to  see  them  rise  at  last,  about  fifty  of  them,  apparently 
black  ducks.  ^  While  they  float  on  the  water  they  ap- 

^  [Probably  not  black  ducks,  to  judg'e  by  what  he  says  of  their  note. 
It  seems  possible  that  they  might  have  been  brant,  though  brant  are 
extremely  rare  in  fresh  water  in  New  England.] 


WILD   DUCKS  47 

pear  to  preserve  constantly  their  relative  distance. 
Their  note  not  exactly  like  that  of  a  goose,  yet  re- 
sembling some  domestic  fowl's  cry,  you  know  not  what 
one  ;  like  a  new  species  of  goose. 

April  16,  1852.  Flight  of  ducks  and  partridges  ear- 
nest but  not  graceful. 

April  17, 1852.  These  deep  withdrawn  bays,  like  that 
toward  Well  Meadow,  are  resorts  for  many  a  shy  flock 
of  ducks.  They  are  very  numerous  this  afternoon.  We 
scare  them  up  every  quarter  of  a  mile.  Mostly  the 
whitish  duck  which  Brown  thinks  the  golden-eye  (we 
call  them  whistlers),  and  also  black  ducks,  perchance 
also  sheldrakes.  They  are  quite  shy  ;  swim  rapidly  away 
far  into  the  pond.  A  flock  which  we  surprised  in  the 
smooth  bay  of  Well  Meadow  divided  and  showed  much 
cunning,  dodging  under  the  shore  to  avoid  us. 

Oct.  12,  1852.  Paddled  on  Walden.  A  rippled  sur- 
face. Scared  up  ducks.  Saw  them  first  far  over  the 
surface,  just  risen,  —  two  smaller,  white-bellied,  one 
larger,  black.  They  circled  round  as  usual,  and  the  first 
went  off,  but  the  black  one  went  round  and  round  and 
over  the  pond  five  or  six  times  at  a  considerable  height 
and  distance,  when  I  thought  several  times  he  had  gone 
to  the  river,  and  at  length  settled  down  by  a  slanting 
flight  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  into  a  distant  part  of  the 
pond  which  I  had  left  free  ;  but  what  beside  safety  these 
ducks  get  by  sailing  in  the  middle  of  Walden  I  don't 
know.  That  black  rolling-pin  with  wings,  circling  round 
you  half  a  mile  off  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  at  that 
height,  from  which  he  sees  the  river  and  Fair  Haven 
all  the  while,  from  which  he  sees  so  many  things,  while 


48     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

I  see  almost  him  alone.  Their  wings  set  so  far  back. 
They  are  not  handsome,  but  wild. 

March  18,  1855.  Meanwhile  a  small  dark-colored 
duck,  all  neck  and  wings,  a  winged  rolling-pin,  went 
over,  —  perhaps  a  teal. 

March  27, 1855.  The  ducks  sleep  these  nights  in  the 
shallowest  water  which  does  not  freeze,  and  there  may 
be  found  early  in  the  morning.  I  think  that  they  prefer 
that  part  of  the  shore  which  is  permanently  covered. 

April  22,  1856.  I  raised  my  sail  and,  cowering  under 
my  umbrella  in  the  stern,  wearing  the  umbrella  like  a 
cap  and  holding  the  handle  between  my  knees,  I  steered 
and  paddled,  almost  perfectly  sheltered  from  the  heavy 
rain.  Yet  my  legs  and  arms  were  a  little  exposed  some- 
times, in  my  endeavors  to  keep  well  to  windward  so  as 
to  double  certain  capes  ahead.  For  the  wind  occasion- 
ally drove  me  on  to  the  western  shore.  From  time  to 
time,  from  under  my  umbrella,  I  could  see  the  ducks 
spinning  away  before  me,  like  great  bees.  For  when 
they  are  flying  low  directly  from  you,  you  see  hardly 
anything  but  their  vanishing  dark  bodies,  while  the 
rapidly  moving  wings  or  paddles,  seen  edgewise,  are 
almost  invisible. 

Oct.  22,  1857.  As  I  go  through  the  woods  now, 
so  many  oak  and  other  leaves  have  fallen  the  rustling 
noise  somewhat  disturbs  my  musing.  However,  Nature 
in  this  may  have  intended  some  kindness  to  the  ducks, 
which  are  now  loitering  hereabouts  on  their  migration 
southward,  mostly  young  and  inexperienced  birds,  for, 
as  they  are  feeding  in  Goose  Pond,  for  instance,  the 
rustling  of  the  leaves  betrays  the  approach  of  the  sports- 


WILD  DUCKS  49 

man  and  his  dog,  or  other  foe  ;  so  perhaps  the  leaves  oil 
the  ground  protect  them  more  than  when  on  the  trees. 

March  25,  1858.  There  are  so  many  sportsmen  out 
that  the  ducks  have  no  rest  on  the  Great  Meadows, 
which  are  not  half  covered  with  water.  They  sit  uneasy 
on  the  water,  looking  about,  without  feeding,  and  I  see 
one  man  endeavor  to  approach  a  flock  crouchingly 
through  the  meadow  for  half  a  mile,  with  india-rubber 
boots  on,  where  the  water  is  often  a  foot  deep.  This  has 
been  going  on,  on  these  meadows,  ever  since  the  town 
was  settled,  and  will  go  on  as  long  as  ducks  settle  here. 

March  28,  1858.  From  Wheeler's  ploughed  field  on 
the  top  of  Fair  Haven  Hill,  I  look  toward  Fair  Haven 
Pond,  now  quite  smooth.  There  is  not  a  duck  nor  a 
gull  to  be  seen  on  it.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  it  was 
so  alive  with  them  yesterday.  Apparently  they  improve 
this  warm  and  pleasant  day,  with  little  or  no  wind,  to 
continue  their  journey  northward.  The  strong  and  cold 
northwest  wind  of  about  a  week  past  has  probably 
detained  them.  Knowing  that  the  meadows  and  ponds 
were  swarming  with  ducks  yesterday,  you  go  forth  this 
particularly  pleasant  and  still  day  to  see  them  at  your 
leisure,  but  find  that  they  are  all  gone.  No  doubt  there 
are  some  left,  and  many  more  will  soon  come  with 
the  April  rains.  It  is  a  wild  life  that  is  associated 
with  stormy  and  blustering  weather.  When  the  invalid 
comes  forth  on  his  cane,  and  misses  improve  the  plea- 
sant air  to  look  for  signs  of  vegetation,  that  wild  life 
has  withdrawn  itself. 

Ajpril  13,  1858.  Speaking  to  J.  B.  Moore  *  about  the 

^  [Of  Concord.] 


50     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

partridges  being  run  down/  he  says  that  he  was  told 
by  Lexington  people  some  years  ago  that  they  found  a 
duck  lying  dead  under  the  spire  of  their  old  meeting- 
house (since  burned)  which  stood  on  the  Battle-Ground. 
The  weathercock  —  and  it  was  a  cock  in  this  case  — 
was  considerably  bent,  and  the  inference  was  that  the 
duck  had  flown  against  it  in  the  night. 

March  24,  1860.  From  Holbrook's  clearing  I  see 
five  large  dark-colored  ducks,  probably  black  ducks, 
far  away  on  the  meadow,  with  heads  erect,  necks 
stretched,  on  the  alert,  only  one  in  water.  Indeed,  there 
is  very  little  water  on  the  meadows.  For  length  of  neck 
those  most  wary  look  much  like  geese.  They  appear 
quite  large  and  heavy.  They  probably  find  some  sweet 
grass,  etc.,  where  the  water  has  just  receded. 

There  are  half  a  dozen  gulls  on  the  water  near.  They 
are  the  large  white  birds  of  the  meadow,  the  whitest 
we  have.  As  they  so  commonly  stand  above  water  on 
a  piece  of  meadow,  they  are  so  much  the  more  conspic- 
uous. They  are  very  conspicuous  to  my  naked  eye  a 
mile  off,  or  as  soon  as  I  come  in  sight  of  the  meadow, 
but  I  do  not  detect  the  sheldrakes  around  them  till  I 
use  my  glass,  for  the  latter  are  not  only  less  conspicu- 
ously white,  but,  as  they  are  fishing,  sink  very  low  in 
the  water.  Three  of  the  gulls  stand  together  on  a  piece 
of  meadow,  and  two  or  three  more  are  standing  solitary 
half  immersed,  and  now  and  then  one  or  two  circle 
slowly  about  their  companions. 

The  sheldrakes  appear  to  be  the  most  native  to  the 
river,  briskly  moving  along  up  and  down  the  side  of 
1  [See  pp.  107,  108.] 


WILD   GOOSE;   CANADA   GOOSE       51 

the  stream  or  the  meadow,  three-fourths  immersed  and 
with  heads  under  water,  like  cutters  collecting  the  re- 
venue of  the  river  bays,  or  like  pirate  crafts  peculiar  to 
the  stream.  They  come  the  earliest  and  seem  to  be 
most  at  home. 

The  water  is  so  low  that  all  these  birds  are  collected 
near  the  Holt.  The  inhabitants  of  the  village,  poultry- 
fanciers,  perchance,  though  they  be,  [know  not]  these 
active  and  vigorous  wild  fowl  (the  sheldrakes)  pursuing 
their  finny  prey  ceaselessly  within  a  mile  of  them,  in 
March  and  April.  Probably  from  the  hen-yard  fence 
with  a  good  glass  you  can  see  them  at  it.  They  are  as 
much  at  home  on  the  water  as  the  pickerel  is  within  it. 
Their  serrated  bill  reminds  me  of  a  pickerel's  snout. 
You  see  a  long  row  of  these  schooners,  black  above 
with  a  white  stripe  beneath,  rapidly  gliding  along,  and 
occasionally  one  rises  erect  on  the  surface  and  flaps 
its  wings,  showing  its  white  lower  parts.  They  are 
the  duck  most  common  and  most  identified  with  the 
stream  at  this  season.  They  appear  to  get  their 
food  wholly  within  the  water.  Less  like  our  domestic 
ducks. 

[/See  also  under  Loon,  p.  4;  General  and  Miscella- 
neous, pp.  408,  412.] 

WILD   GOOSE  ;    CANADA    GOOSE 

March  26,  1846.  A  flock  of  geese  has  just  got  in  late, 
now  in  the  dark  flying  low  over  the  pond.  They  came 
on,  indulging  at  last  like  weary  travellers  in  complaint 
and  consolation,  or  like  some  creaking  evening  mail 
late  lumbering  in  with  regular  anserine  clangor.  I  stood 


52     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

at  my  door  *  and  could  hear  their  wings  when  they  sud- 
denly spied  my  light  and,  ceasing  their  noise,  wheeled 
to  the  east  and  apparently  settled  in  the  pond. 

March  27, 1846.  This  morning  I  saw  the  geese  from 
the  door  through  the  mist  sailing  about  in  the  middle 
of  the  pond,  but  when  I  went  to  the  shore  they  rose  and 
circled  round  like  ducks  over  my  head,  so  that  I  counted 
them,  —  twenty-nine.  I  after  saw  thirteen  ducks. 

March  28, 1852.  10.15  P.  M.  —  The  geese  have  just 
gone  over,  making  a  great  cackling  and  awaking  people 
in  their  beds.  They  will  probably  settle  in  the  river. 
Who  knows  but  they  had  expected  to  find  the  pond 
open  ? 

April  15,  1852.  How  indispensable  our  one  or  two 
flocks  of  geese  in  spring  and  autumn  !  What  would  be 
a  spring  in  which  that  sound  was  not  heard  ?  Coming 
to  unlock  the  fetters  of  northern  rivers.  Those  annual 
steamers  of  the  air. 

April  18,  1852.  Going  through  Dennis's  field  with 
C.,^  saw  a  flock  of  geese  on  east  side  of  river  near  wil- 
lows. Twelve  gfreat  birds  on  the  troubled  surface  of  the 
meadow,  delayed  by  the  storm.  We  lay  on  the  ground 
behind  an  oak  and  our  umbrella,  eighty  rods  off,  and 
watched  them.  Soon  we  heard  a  gun  go  off,  but  could 
see  no  smoke  in  the  mist  and  rain.  And  the  whole  flock 
rose,  spreading  their  great  wings  and  flew  with  clangor  ' 
a  few  rods  and  lit  in  the  water  again,  then  swam  swiftly 

1  [Of  his  hut  at  Walden  Pond.] 

"^  [William  Ellery  Channing,  the  younger,  the  Concord  poet,  Tho- 
reau's  most  intimate  friend  and  afterwards  his  biographer.] 
^  The  "  honk  "  of  the  goose. 


WILD  GOOSE;  CANADA  GOOSE   53 

toward  our  shore  with  outstretched  necks.  I  knew  them 
first  from  ducks  by  their  long  necks.  Soon  appeared 
the  man,  running  toward  the  shore  in  vain,  in  his  great- 
coat ;  but  he  soon  retired  in  vain.  We  remained  close 
under  our  umbrella  by  the  tree,  ever  and  anon  looking 
through  a  peep-hole  between  the  umbrella  and  the  tree 
at  the  birds.  On  they  came,  sometimes  in  two,  some- 
times in  three,  squads,  warily,  till  we  could  see  the 
steel-blue  and  green  reflections  from  their  necks.  We 
held  the  dog  close  the  while,  —  C,  lying  on  his  back  in 
the  rain,  had  him  in  his  arms,  —  and  thus  we  gradually 
edged  round  on  the  ground  in  this  cold,  wet,  windy 
storm,  keeping  our  feet  to  the  tree,  and  the  great  wet 
calf  of  a  dog  with  his  eyes  shut  so  meekly  in  our  arms. 
We  laughed  well  at  our  adventure.  They  swam  fast  and 
warily,  seeing  our  umbrella.  Occasionally  one  expanded 
a  gray  wing.  They  showed  white  on  breasts.  And  not 
till  after  half  an  hour,  sitting  cramped  and  cold  and 
wet  on  the  ground,  did  we  leave  them. 

Heard  the  cackling  of  geese  from  over  the  Ministerial 
Swamp,  and  soon  appeared  twenty-eight  geese  that  flew 
over  our  heads  toward  the  other  river  we  had  left,^  we 
now  near  the  black  birches.  With  these  great  birds  in 
it,  the  air  seems  for  the  first  time  inhabited.  We  detect 
holes  in  their  wings.  Their  clank  expresses  anxiety. 

April  19,  1852.  That  last  flock  of  geese  yesterday  is 
still  in  my  eye.  After  hearing  their  clangor,  looking 
southwest,  we  saw  them  just  appearing  over  a  dark  pine 
wood,  in  an  irregular  waved  line,  one  abreast  of  the 

^  [That  is,  the  Sudbury  River.    They  were  then  near  the  Assabet.] 


54     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

other,  as  it  were  breasting  the  air  and  pushing  it  before 
them.  It  made  you  think  of  the  streams  of  Cayster, 
etc.,  etc.  They  carry  weight,  such  a  weight  of  metal  in 
the  air.  Their  dark  waved  outline  as  they  disappear. 
The  grenadiers  of  the  air.  Man  pygmifies  himself  at 
sight  of  these  inhabitants  of  the  air.  These  stormy  days 
they  do  not  love  to  fly  ;  they  alight  in  some  retired 
marsh  or  river.  From  their  lofty  pathway  they  can  easily 
spy  out  the  most  extensive  and  retired  swamp.  How 
many  there  must  be,  that  one  or  more  flocks  are  seen 
to  go  over  almost  every  farm  in  New  England  in  the 
spring  ! 

Nov.  25,  1852.  At  Walden.  —  I  hear  at  sundown 
what  I  mistake  for  the  squawking  of  a  hen, —  for  they 
are  firing  at  chickens  hereabouts,^ — but  it  proved  to 
be  a  flock  of  wild  geese  going  south.  This  proves  how 
much  the  voices  of  all  fowls  are  alike. 

Nov.  29,  1852.  Geese  in  river  swam  as  fast  as  I 
walked. 

March  26, 1853.  Saw  about  10  a.  m.  a  gaggle  of  geese, 
forty-three  in  number,  in  a  very  perfect  harrow  flying 
northeasterly.  One  side  of  the  harrow  was  a  little 
longer  than  the  other.  They  appeared  to  be  four  or 
five  feet  apart.  At  first  I  heard  faintly,  as  I  stood  by 
Minott's  gate,  borne  to  me  from  the  southwest  through 
the  confused  sounds  of  the  village,  the  indistinct  honk- 
ing of  geese.  I  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  that 
Mr.  Loring  at  his  house  should  have  heard  and  seen 
the  same  flock.  I  should  think  that  the  same  flock  was 
commonly  seen  and  heard  from  tlie  distance  of  a  mile 
^  [A  Thanksgiving-Day  cliicken-shoot.] 


WILD  GOOSE;  CANADA  GOOSE   55 

east  and  west.  It  is  remarkable  that  we  commonly  see 
geese  go  over  in  the  spring  about  10  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  as  if  they  were  accustomed  to  stop  for  the 
night  at  some  place  southward  whence  they  reached  us 
at  that  time.  Goodwin  saw  six  geese  in  Walden  about 
the  same  time. 

Nov.  23,  1853.  At  5  p.  m.  I  saw,  flying  southwest 
high  overhead,  a  flock  of  geese,  and  heard  the  faint 
honking  of  one  or  two.  They  were  in  the  usual  harrow 
form,  twelve  in  the  shorter  line  and  twenty-four  in  the 
longer,  the  latter  abutting  on  the  former  at  the  fourth 
bird  from  the  front.  I  judged  hastily  that  the  interval 
between  the  geese  was  about  double  their  alar  extent, 
and,  as  the  last  is,  according  to  Wilson,  five  feet  and 
two  inches,  the  former  may  safely  be  called  eight  feet. 
I  hear  they  were  fired  at  with  a  rifle  from  Bunker  Hill 
the  other  day.  This  is  the  sixth  flock  I  have  seen  or 
heard  of  since  the  morning  of  the  17th,  i.  e.  within  a 
week. 

Nov.  18,  1854.  Saw  sixty  geese  go  over  the  Great 
Fields,  in  one  waving  line,  broken  from  time  to  time 
by  their  crowding  on  each  other  and  vainly  endeavor- 
ing to  form  into  a  harrow,  honking  all  the  while. 

March  20,  1855.  Trying  the  other  day  to  imitate 
the  honking  of  geese,  I  found  myself  flapping  my  sides 
with  my  elbows,  as  with  wings,  and  uttering  something 
like  the  syllables  mow-ack  with  a  nasal  twang  and  twist 
in  my  head ;  and  I  produced  their  note  so  perfectly  in 
the  opinion  of  the  hearers  that  I  thought  I  might  pos- 
sibly draw  a  flock  down. 

April  19,  1855.  5  A.  M.  —  I  hear  a  faint  honh  and, 


56     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

looking  up,  see  going  over  the  river,  within  fifty  rods, 
thirty-two  geese  in  the  form  of  a  hay-hook,  only  two  in 
the  hook,  and  they  are  at  least  six  feet  apart.  Probably 
the  whole  line  is  twelve  rods  long.  At  least  three  hun- 
dred have  passed  over  Concord,  or  rather  within  the 
breadth  of  a  mile,  this  spring  (perhaps  twice  as  many)  ; 
for  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  a  dozen  flocks,  and  the  two 
I  counted  had  about  thirty  each. 

Nov.  13,  1855.  In  mid-forenoon  (10.45),  seventy  or 
eighty  geese,  in  three  harrows  successively  smaller,  fly- 
ing southwest  —  pretty  well  west  —  over  the  house.  A 
completely  overcast,  occasionally  drizzling  forenoon.  I 
at  once  heard  their  clangor  and  rushed  to  and  opened 
the  window.  The  three  harrows  were  gradually  formed 
into  one  great  one  before  they  were  out  of  sight,  the 
geese  shifting  their  places  without  slackingr  their  pro- 
gress. 

Nov.  19,  1855.  Speaking  of  geese,  he  ^  says  that  Dr. 
Hurd  told  a  tough  story  once.  He  said  that  when  he 
went  out  to  the  well  there  came  a  flock  of  geese  flying 
so  low  that  they  had  to  rise  to  clear  the  well-sweep. 
M.  says  that  there  used  to  be  a  great  many  more  geese 
formerly ;  he  used  to  hear  a  great  many  flocks  in  a  day 
go  "yelling"  over.  Brant,  too,  he  used  to  see. 

Dec.  13, 1855.  Sanborn^  tells  me  that  he  was  waked  up 
a  few  nights  ago  in  Boston,  about  midnight,  by  the  sound 
of  a  flock  of  geese  passing  over  the  city,  probably  about 
the  same  night  I  heard  them  here.  They  go  honking 
over  cities  where  the  arts  flourish,  waking  the  inhabit- 

^  [George  Minott.] 

^  [Mr.  F.  B.  Sanborn  of  Concord,  Thoreau's  biographer-l 


WILD  GOOSE;  CANADA  GOOSE   57 

ants  ;  over  State-houses  and  capitols,  where  legislatures 
sit ;  over  harbors  where  fleets  lie  at  anchor ;  mistaking 
the  city,  perhaps,  for  a  swamp  or  the  edge  of  a  lake, 
about  settling  in  it,  not  suspecting  that  greater  geese 
than  they  have  settled  there. 

Nov.  8,  1857.  A  warm,  cloudy,  rain-threatening 
morning. 

About  10  A.  M.  a  long  flock  of  geese  are  going  over 
from  northeast  to  southwest,  or  parallel  with  the  general 
direction  of  the  coast  and  great  mountain  ranges.  The 
sonorous,  quavering  sounds  of  the  geese  are  the  voice 
of  this  cloudy  air,  —  a  sound  that  comes  from  directly 
between  us  and  the  sky,  an  aerial  sound,  and  yet  so 
distinct,  heavy,  and  sonorous,  a  clanking  chain  drawn 
through  the  heavy  air.  I  saw  through  my  window  some 
children  looking  up  and  pointing  their  tiny  bows  into 
the  heavens,  and  I  knew  at  once  that  the  geese  were  in 
the  air.  It  is  always  an  exciting  event.  The  children, 
instinctively  aware  of  its  importance,  rushed  into  the 
house  to  tell  their  parents.  These  travellers  are  revealed 
to  you  by  the  upward-turned  gaze  of  men.  And  though 
these  undulating  lines  are  melting  into  the  southwestern 
sky,  the  sound  comes  clear  and  distinct  to  you  as  the 
clank  of  a  chain  in  a  neighboring  stithy.  So  they  migrate, 
not  flitting  from  hedge  to  hedge,  but  from  latitude  to 
latitude^  from  State  to  State,  steering  boldly  out  into  the 
ocean  of  the  air.  It  is  remarkable  how  these  large  ob- 
jects, so  plain  when  your  vision  is  rightly  directed,  may 
be  lost  in  the  sky  if  you  look  away  for  a  moment,  —  as 
hard  to  hit  as  a  star  with  a  telescope. 

It  is  a  sort  of  encouraging  or  soothing  sound  to  as- 


68     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

suage  their  painful  fears  when  the}''  go  over  a  town,  as 
a  man  moans  to  deaden  a  physical  pain.  The  direction 
of  their  flight  each  spring  and  autumn  reminds  us 
inlanders  how  the  coast  trends.  In  the  afternoon  I  met 
Flood,  who  had  just  endeavored  to  draw  my  attention 
to  a  flock  of  geese  in  the  mizzling  air,  but  encountering 
me  he  lost  sight  of  them,  while  I,  at  length,  looking 
that  way,  discerned  them,  though  he  could  not.  This 
was  the  third  flock  to-day.  Now  if  ever,  then,  we  may 
expect  a  change  in  the  weather. 

iVov.  30,  1857.  The  air  is  full  of  geese.  I  saw  five 
flocks  within  an  hour,  about  10  a.  m.,  containing  from 
thirty  to  fifty  each,  and  afterward  two  more  flocks, 
making  in  all  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  to  three 
hundred  at  least,  all  flying  southwest  over  Goose  and 
Walden  Ponds.  The  former  was  apparently  well  named 
Goose  Pond.  You  first  hear  a  faint  honking  from  one 
or  two  in  the  northeast  and  think  there  are  but  few 
wandering  there,  but,  looking  up,  see  forty  or  fifty  com- 
ing on  in  a  more  or  less  broken  harrow,  wedging  their 
way  southwest.  I  suspect  they  honk  more,  at  any  rate 
they  are  more  broken  and  alarmed,  when  passing  over 
a  village,  and  are  seen  falling  into  their  ranks  again, 
assuming  the  perfect  harrow  form.  Hearing  only  one 
or  two  honking,  even  for  the  seventh  time,  you  think 
there  are  but  few  till  you  see  them.  According  to  my 
calculation  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  may  have  gone 
over  Concord  to-day.  When  they  fly  low  and  near,  they 
look  very  black  against  the  sky. 

March  31,  1858.  Just  after  sundown  I  see  a  large 
flock  of  geese  in  a  perfect  harrow  cleaving  their  way 


WILD   GOOSE;   CANADA   GOOSE       59 

toward  the  northeast,  with  Napoleonic  tactics  splitting 
the  forces  of  winter. 

April  1,  1858.  I  observed  night  before  last,  as  often 
before,  when  geese  were  passing  over  in  the  twilight 
quite  near,  though  the  whole  heavens  were  still  light 
and  I  knew  which  way  to  look  by  the  honking,  I  could 
not  distinguish  them.  It  takes  but  a  little  obscurity 
to  hide  a  bird  in  the  air.  How  difficult,  even  in 
broadest  daylight,  to  discover  again  a  hawk  at  a  dis- 
tance in  the  sky  when  you  have  once  turned  your  eyes 
away! 

Oct.  24,  1858.  A  northeast  storm,  though  not  much 
rain  falls  to-day,  but  a  fine  driving  mizzle  or  "  drisk." 
This,  as  usual,  brings  the  geese,  and  at  2.30  p.  M.  I  see 
two  flocks  go  over.  I  hear  that  some  were  seen  two  or 
three  weeks  ago  (?  ?),  faintly  honking.  A  great  many 
must  go  over  to-day  and  also  alight  in  this  neighborhood. 
This  weather  warns  them  of  the  approach  of  winter,  and 
this  wind  speeds  them  on  their  way.  Surely,  then,  while 
geese  fly  overhead  we  can  live  here  as  contentedly  as 
they  do  at  York  Factory  on  Hudson's  Bay.  We  shall 
perchance  be  as  well  provisioned  and  have  as  good  so- 
ciety as  they.  Let  us  be  of  good  cheer,  then,  and  expect 
the  annual  vessel  which  brings  the  spring  to  us  without 
fail. 

March  24,  1859.  C*  sees  geese  go  over  again  this 
afternoon.  How  commonly  they  are  seen  in  still  rainy 
weather  like  this  !  He  says  that  when  they  had  got  far 
off  they  looked  like  a  black  ribbon  almost  perpendicular 
waving  in  the  air. 

^  [William  Ellery  Channing,  the  younger.] 


60     NOTES   ON    NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

MarcTi  28,  1859.  We  see  eight  geese  floating  afar 
in  the  middle  of  the  meadow,  at  least  half  a  mile  off, 
plainly  (with  glass)  much  larger  than  the  ducks  in  their 
neighborhood  and  the  white  on  their  heads  very  dis- 
tinct. When  at  length  they  arise  and  fly  off  northward, 
their  peculiar  heavy  undulating  wings,  blue-heron-like 
and  unlike  any  duck,  are  very  noticeable.  The  black, 
sheldrake,  etc.,  move  their  wings  rapidly,  and"  remind 
you  of  paddle-wheel  steamers.  Methinks  the  wings  of 
the  black  duck  appear  to  be  set  very  far  back  when  it 
is  flying.  The  meadows,  which  are  still  covered  far  and 
wide,  are  quite  alive  with  black  ducks. 

When  walking  about  on  the  low  east  shore  at  the 
Bedford  bound,  I  heard  a  faint  honk,  and  looked  around 
over  the  water  with  my  glass,  thinking  it  came  from 
that  side  or  perhaps  from  a  farmyard  in  that  direction. 
I  soon  heard  it  again,  and  at  last  we  detected  a  great 
flock  passing  over,  quite  on  the  other  side  of  us  and 
pretty  high  up.  From  time  to  time  one  of  the  company 
uttered  a  short  note,  that  peculiarly  metallic,  clangorous 
sound.  These  were  in  a  single  undulating  line,  and,  as 
usual,  one  or  two  were  from  time  to  time  crowded  out 
of  the  line,  apparently  by  the  crowding  of  those  in  the 
rear,  and  were  flying,  on  one  side  and  trying  to  recover 
their  places,  but  at  last  a  second  short  line  was  formed, 
meeting  the  long  one  at  the  usual  angle  and  making  a 
figure  somewhat  like  a  hay-hook.  I  suspect  it  will  be 
found  that  there  is  really  some  advantage  in  large  birds 
of  passage  flying  in  the  wedge  form  and  cleaving  their 
way  through  the  air,  —  that  they  really  do  overcome  its 
resistance  best  in  this  way,  —  and  perchance  the  direc- 


WILD   GOOSE;   CANADA   GOOSE       61 

tion  and  strength  of  the  wind  determine  the  comparative 
length  of  the  two  sides. 

The  great  gulls  fly  generally  up  or  down  the  river 
valley,  cutting  off  the  bends  of  the  river,  and  so  do 
these  geese.  These  fly  sympathizing  with  the  river,  — 
a  stream  in  the  air,  soon  lost  in  the  distant  sky. 

We  see  these  geese  swimming  and  flying  at  midday 
and  when  it  is  perfectly  fair. 

If  you  scan  the  horizon  at  this  season  of  the  year 
you  are  very  likely  to  detect  a  small  flock  of  dark 
ducks  moving  with  rapid  wing  athwart  the  sky,  or  see 
the  undulating  line  of  migrating  geese  against  the 
sky. 

Perhaps  it  is  this  easterly  wind  which  brings  geese, 
as  it  did  on  the  24th. 

Undoubtedly  the  geese  fly  more  numerously  over 
rivers  which,  like  ours,  flow  northeasterly,  —  are  more 
at  home  with  the  water  under  them.  Each  flock  runs 
the  gantlet  of  a  thousand  gunners,  and  when  you  see 
them  steer  off  from  you  and  your  boat  you  may  remem- 
ber how  great  their  experience  in  such  matters  may  be, 
how  many  such  boats  and  gunners  they  have  seen  and 
avoided  between  here  and  Mexico,  and  even  now,  per- 
chance (though  you,  low  plodding,  little  dream  it),  they 
see  one  or  two  more  lying  in  wait  ahead.  They  have  an 
experienced  ranger  of  the  air  for  their  guide.  The  echo 
of  one  gun  hardly  dies  away  before  they  see  another 
pointed  at  them.  How  many  bullets  or  smaller  shot 
have  sped  in  vain  toward  their  ranks !  Ducks  fly  more 
irregularly  and  shorter  distances  at  a  time.  The  geese 


62     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

rest  in  fair  weather  by  day  only  in  the  midst  of  our 
broadest  meadow  or  pond.  So  they  go,  anxious  and 
earnest  to  hide  their  nests  under  the  pole.^ 

[/See  also  under  Loon,  p.  4;  Great  Blue   Heron, 
p.  72.] 

^  [Of  course  they  do  not  go  quite  so  far  north  as  Thoreau  intimates. 
He  was  perhaps  thinking  of  the  breeding-grounds  of  the  brant.] 


I 


IV 
HERONS  AND  RAILS 

AMERICAN  BITTERN  ;  STAKE-DRIVER. 

June  14,  1851.  As  I  proceed  along  the  back  road  I 
hear  the  lark  still  singing  in  the  meadow,  and  the  bob- 
olink, and  the  gold  robin  on  the  elms,  and  the  swallows 
twittering  about  the  barns.  A  small  bird  chasing  a  crow 
high  in  the  air,  who  is  going  home  at  night.  All  nature 
is  in  an  expectant  attitude.  Before  Goodwin's  house,  at 
the  opening  of  the  Sudbury  road,  the  swallows  are  div- 
ing at  a  tortoise-shell  cat,  who  curvets  and  frisks  rather 
awkwardly,  as  if  she  did  not  know  whether  to  be  scared 
or  not.  And  now,  having  proceeded  a  little  way  down 
this  road,  the  sun  having  buried  himself  in  the  low  cloud 
in  the  west  and  hung  out  his  crimson  curtains,  I  hear, 
while  sitting  by  the  wall,  the  sound  of  the  stake-driver 
at  a  distance, —  like  that  made  by  a  man  pumping 
in  a  neighboring  farmyard,  watering  his  cattle,  or  like 
chopping  wood  before  his  door  on  a  frosty  morning, 
and  I  can  imagine  like  driving  a  stake  in  a  meadow. 
The  pumper.  I  immediately  went  in  search  of  the 
bird,  but,  after  going  a  third  of  a  mile,  it  did  not  sound 
much  nearer,  and  the  two  parts  of  the  sound  did  not 
appear  to  proceed  from  the  same  place.  What  is  the 
peculiarity  of  these  sounds  which  penetrate  so  far  on 
the  keynote  of  nature  ?  At  last  I  got  near  to  the  brook 
in  the  meadow  behind  Hubbard's  wood,  but  I  could 


64     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

not  tell  if  it  were  further  or  nearer  than  that.  When 
I  got  within  half  a  dozen  rods  of  the  brook,  it  ceased, 
and  I  heard  it  no  more.  I  suppose  that  I  scared  it.  As 
before  I  was  further  off  than  I  thought,  so  now  I  was 
nearer  than  I  thought.  It  is  not  easy  to  understand 
how  so  small  a  creature  can  make  so  loud  a  sound  by 
merely  sucking  in  or  throwing  out  water  with  pump- 
like lungs.  ^ 

It  was  a  sound  as  of  gulping  water. 

Sept.  20,  1851.  I  scare  up  the  great  bittern  in 
meadow  by  the  Heywood  Brook  near  the  ivy.  He  rises 
buoyantly  as  he  flies  against  the  wind,  and  sweeps  south 
over  the  willow  with  outstretched  neck,  surveying. 

Oct.  5,  1851.  The  American  bittern  (^Ardea  minory 
flew  across  the  river,  trailing  his  legs  in  the  water, 
scared  up  by  us.  This,  according  to  Peabody,'  is  the 
boomer  (stake-driver).  In  their  sluggish  flight  they 
can  hardly  keep  their  legs  up.  Wonder  if  they  can 
soar. 

Oct.  7,  1851.  Saw  the  Ardea  minor  walking  along 
the  shore,  like  a  hen  with  long  green  legs.  Its  pencilled 
throat  is  so  like  the  reeds  and  shore,  amid  which  it 
holds  its  head  erect  to  watch  the  passer,  that  it  is  diflfi- 

^  [No  -water  is  used  in  producing  the  sound.  Thoreau  had  been  mis- 
informed by  one  of  his  neig-hbors.  See  the  account  in  his  paper  on  the 
"  Natural  History  of  Massachusetts  "  in  Excursions.  For  an  interesting 
account  of  this  habit  of  the  bittern's  see  Mr.  Bradford  Torrey's  paper 
on  "  The  '  Booming  '  of  the  Bittern  "  in  The  Auk  for  January,  1889 
Cvol.  vi,  pp.  1-8).] 

^  [Now  called  Botanies  lentiginosus.1 

'  [W.  B.  0.  Peabody,  Report  on  the  Birds  of  Massachusetts.^ 


AMERICAN   BITTERN;    STAKE-DRIVER     65 

cult  to  discern  it.  You  can  get  veiy  near  it,  for  it  is 
unwilling  to  fly,  preferring  to  hide  amid  the  weeds. 

Oct.  12,  1851.  Minott  calls  the  stake-driver  "bel- 
cher-squelcher." Says  he  has  seen  them  when  making 
the  noise.  They  go  slug-toot,  slug-toot,  slug-toot. 

June  16,  1852.  I  hear  a  stake-driver,  like  a  man  at 
his  pump,  which  sucks, —  fit  sound  for  our  sluggish 
river.  .  .  .  Most  would  suppose  the  stake-driver  the 
sound  of  a  farmer  at  a  distance  at  his  pump,  watering 
his  cattle.  It  of  tener  sounds  like  this  than  like  a  stake, 
but  sometimes  exactly  like  a  man  driving  a  stake  in 
the  meadow. 

June  20,  1852.  The  stake-driver  is  at  it  in  his  fa- 
vorite meadow.  I  followed  the  sound.  At  last  I  got 
within  two  rods,  it  seeming  always  to  recede  and  draw- 
ing you  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  further  away  into  the 
meadows.  When  thus  near,  I  heard  some  lower  sounds 
at  the  beginning,  much  more  like  striking  on  a  stump 
or  a  stake,  a  dry,  hard  sound ;  and  then  followed  the 
gurgling,  pumping  notes,  fit  to  come  from  a  meadow. 
This  was  just  within  the  blueberry  and  Pyrus  arhuti- 
folia  (choke-berry)  bushes,  and  when  the  bird  flew  up 
alarmed,  I  went  to  the  place,  but  could  see  no  water, 
which  makes  me  doubt  if  water  is  necessary  to  it  in 
making  the  sound.  Perhaps  it  thrusts  its  bill  so  deep 
as  to  reach  the  water  where  it  is  dry  on  the  surface.  It 
sounds  the  more  like  wood-chopping  or  pumping,  be- 
cause you  seem  to  hear  the  echo  of  the  stroke  or  the 
reverse  motion  of  the  pump-handle.  I  hear  them  morn- 
ing and  evening.  After  the  warm  weather  has  come, 
both  morning  and  evening  you  hear  the  bittern  pump- 


66    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

ing  in  the  fens.  It  does  not  sound  loud  near  at  band, 
and  it  is  remarkable  tbat  it  sbould  be  beard  so  far. 
Perhaps  it  is  pitched  on  a  favorable  key.  Is  it  not  a 
call  to  its  mate  ?  Methinks  that  in  the  resemblance  of 
this  note  to  rural  sounds,  to  sounds  made  by  farmers, 
the  protection,  the  security,  of  the  bird  is  designed. 

July  18,  1852.  Again  under  weigh,  we  scare  up  the 
great  bittern  amid  the  pontederia,  and,  rowing  to  where 
he  alights,  come  within  three  feet  of  him  and  scare 
him  up  again.  He  flies  sluggishly  away,  plowing  the  air 
with  the  coulter  of  his  breast-bone,  and  alighting  ever 
higher  up  the  stream.  We  scare  him  up  many  times  in 
the  course  of  an  hour. 

Aug.  13,  1852.  Saw  the  head  and  neck  of  a  great 
bittern  projecting  above  the  meadow-grass,  exactly  like 
the  point  of  a  stump,  only  I  knew  there  could  be  no 
stump  there. 

Aug.  31,  1852.  The  pigeon  woodpecker  darts  across 
the  valley ;  a  catbird  mews  in  the  alders ;  a  great  bit- 
tern flies  sluggishly  away  from  his  pine  tree  perch  on 
Tupelo  Cliff,  digging  his  way  through  the  air.  These 
and  crows  at  long  intervals  are  all  the  birds  seen  or 
heard. 

There  goes  a  great  bittern  plodding  home  over  the 
meadows  at  evening,  to  his  perch  on  some  tree  by  the 
shore.  The  rain  has  washed  the  leaves  clean  where 
he  perches.  There  stands  another  in  the  meadow  just 
like  a  stake,  or  the  point  of  a  stump  or  root.  Its  secur- 
ity was  consulted  both  in  its  form  and  color.  The  latter 
is  a  sober  brown,  pale  on  the  breast,  as  the  less  exposed 


AMERICAN   BITTERN;    STAKE-DRIVER     67 

side  of  a  root  might  be ;  and  its  attitude  is  accidental, 
too,  bent  forward  and  'perfectly  motionless.  Therefore 
there  is  no  change  in  appearance  but  such  as  can  be 
referred  to  the  motion  of  the  sailor. 

May  13,  1853.  Heard  a  stake-driver  in  Hubbard's 
meadow  from  Corner  road.  Thus  far  off,  I  hear  only, 
or  chiefly,  the  last  dry,  hard  click  or  stroke  part  of  the 
note,  sounding  like  the  echo  from  some  near  wood  of 
a  distant  stake-driving.  Here  only  this  portion  of  the 
note,  but  close  by  it  is  more  like  pumping,  when  the 
dry  stroke  is  accompanied  by  the  incessant  sound  of 
the  pump. 

May  27,  1853.  Heard  a  stake-driver  yesterday  in 
the  rain.  It  sounded  exactly  like  a  man  pumping, 
while  another  man  struck  on  the  head  of  the  pump 
with  an  axe,  the  last  strokes  sounding  peculiarly  dry 
and  hard  like  a  forcible  echo  from  the  wood-side.  One 
would  think  all  Concord  would  be  built  on  piles  by  this 
time.  Very  deliberately  they  drive,  and  in  the  intervals 
are  considering  the  progress  of  the  pile  into  the  soft 
mud.  They  are  working  by  the  day.  He  is  early  and 
late  at  his  work,  building  his  stake  [?] -house,  yet  did 
anybody  ever  see  the  pile  he  had  driven  ?  He  has  come 
back  from  his  Southern  tour  to  finish  that  job  of  spile- 
driving  which  he  undertook  last  year.  It  is  heavy  work 
—  not  to  be  hurried.  Only  green  hands  are  overhasty. 

May  20,  1856.  See  and  hear  a  stake-driver  in  the 
swamp.  It  took  one  short  pull  at  its  pump  and  stopped. 

June  15,  1857.  It  was  pleasant  walking  thus  *  at  5 
P.  M.  by  solitary  sandy  paths,  through  commonly  low 
1  fin  Plyraoutli,  Mass.] 


68     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

dry  woods  of  oak  or  pine,  through  glistening  oak  woods 
(their  fresh  leaves  in  the  June  air),  where  the  yellow- 
throat  (or  black-throat?')  was  heard  and  the  wood 
thrush  sang,  and,  as  I  passed  a  swamp,  a  bittern 
boomed.  As  I  stood  quite  n^r,  I  heard  distinctly  two 
or  three  dry,  hard  sucks,  as  if  the  bird  were  drawing 
up  water  from  the  swamp,  and  then  the  sounds  usually 
heard,  as  if  ejecting  it. 

3Iay  28,  1858.  From  time  to  time  I  hear  the  sound 
of  the  bittern,  concealed  in  the  grass,  indefinitely  far 
or  near,  and  can  only  guess  at  the  direction,  not  the 
distance.  I  fail  to  find  the  nest. 

Junell,  1858.  The  stake-driver  comes  beating  along, 
like  a  long,  ungainly  craft,  or  a  revenue  cutter,  looking 
into  the  harbors,  and  if  it  finds  a  fisherman  there,  stand- 
ing out  again. 

Aug.  19,  1858.  We  scare  up  a  stake-driver  several 
times.  The  blue  heron  has  within  a  week  reappeared  in 
our  meadows,  and  the  stake-driver  begins  to  be  seen 
of  tener,  and  as  early  as  the  5th  I  noticed  young  summer 
ducks  about ;  the  same  of  hawks,  owls,  etc.  This  occurs 
as  soon  as  the  young  birds  can  take  care  of  themselves, 
and  some  appear  to  be  very  early  on  the  return  south- 
ward, with  the  very  earliest  prospect  of  fall.  Such  birds 
are  not  only  more  abimdant  but,  methinks,  more  at  lei- 
sure now,  having  reared  their  family,  and  perhaps  they 
are  less  shy.  Yes,  bitterns  are  more  frequently  seen  now 
to  lift  themselves  from  amid  the  pontederia  or  flags, 
and  take  their  sluggish  flight  to  a  new  resting-place,  — 

^  [The  black-throated  bunting',  or  dickcissel,  formerly  a  common 
bird  in  the  Cape  Cod  region  of  Massachusetts.] 


AMERICAN   BITTERN;    STAKE-DRIVER     69 

bitterns  which  either  have  got  through  the  labors  of 
breed  ins:  or  are  now  first  able  to  shift  for  themselves. 
And  likewise  blue  herons,  which  have  bred,  or  been  bred 
not  far  from  us  (plainly),  are  now  at  leisure,  or  are  im- 
pelled to  revisit  our  slow  stream.  I  have  not  seen  the 
last  since  spring. 

Oct.^  26,  1858.  He  *  says  that  some  call  the  stake- 
driver  "  belcher-squelcher,"  and  some,  "  woUerkertoot." 
I  used  to  call  them  "  pump-er-gor'."  Some  say  "  slug- 
toot." 

Nov.  17,  1858.  I  am  surprised  to  see  a  stake-driver 
fly  up  from  the  weeds  within  a  stone's  throw  of  my 
boat's  place.  It  drops  its  excrement  from  thirty  feet  in 
the  air,  and  this  falling,  one  part  being  heavier  than  an- 
other, takes  the  form  of  a  snake,  and  suggests  that  this 
may  be  the  origin  of  some  of  the  stories  of  this  bird 
swallowing  a  snake  or  eel  which  passed  through  it. 

April  17,  1860.  Looking  off  on  to  the  river  meadow, 
I  noticed,  as  I  thought,  a  stout  stake  aslant  in  the 
meadow,  three  or  more  rods  off,  sharp  at  the  top  and 
rather  light-colored  on  one  side,  as  is  often  the  case ; 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  it  occurred  to  me  that  a  stake- 
driver  often  resembled  a  stake  very  much,  but  I  thought, 
nevertheless,  that  there  was  no  doubt  about  this  being 
a  stake.  I  took  out  my  glass  to  look  for  ducks,  and  my 
companion,  seeing  what  I  had,  and  asking  if  it  was  not 
a  stake-driver,  I  suffered  my  glass  at  last  to  rest  on  it, 
and  I  was  much  surprised  to  find  that  it  was  a  stake- 
driver  after  all.  The  bird  stood  in  shallow  water  near 
a  tussock,  perfectly  still,  with  its  long  bill  pointed  up- 

1  [Minott.] 


70     NOTES   ON    NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

wards  in  the  same  direction  with  its  body  and  neck,  so 
as  perfectly  to  resemble  a  stake  aslant.  If  the  bill  had 
made  an  angle  with  the  neck  it  would  have  been  be- 
trayed at  once.  Its  resource  evidently  was  to  rely  on  its 
form  and  color  and  immobility  solely  for  its  concealment. 
This  was  its  instinct,  whether  it  implies  any  conscious 
artifice  or  not.  I  watched  it  for  fifteen  minutes,  and  at 
length  it  relaxed  its  muscles  and  changed  its  attitude, 
and  I  observed  a  slight  motion ;  and  soon  after,  when 
I  moved  toward  it,  it  flew.  It  resembled  more  a  piece  of 
a  rail  than  anything  else,  —  more  than  anything  that 
would  have  been  seen  here  before  the  white  man  came. 
It  is  a  question  whether  the  bird  consciously  cooperates 
in  each  instance  with  its  Maker,  who  contrived  this 
concealment.  I  can  never  believe  that  this  resemblance 
is  a  mere  coincidence,  not  designed  to  answer  this  very 
end  —  which  it  does  answer  so  perfectly  and  usefully. 

June  6,  1860.  Ever  and  anon  we  hear  a  few  sucks  or 
strokes  from  the  bittern,  the  stake-driver,  wherever  we 
lie  to,  as  if  he  had  taken  the  job  of  extending  all  the 
fences  into  the  river  to  keep  cows  from  straying  round. 

Oct.  16, 1860.  Horace  Mann  ^  tells  me  that  he  found 
in  the  crop  or  inside  of  the  stake-driver  killed  the  other 
day  one  grasshopper,  several  thousand-legs  one  to  one 
and  a  half  inches  long,  and  not  much  else. 

April  16,  1861.  He  ^  brought  me  some  days  ago  the 
contents  of  a  stake-driver's  stomach  or  crop.  It  is  ap- 

^  [Tlie  son  of  the  famous  educator  of  that  name.  He  was  living'  in 
Concord,  aud  he  accompanied  Thoreau  on  his  journey  to  Minnesota  in 
the  following  summer.] 

^  [Horace  Mann.] 


GREAT  BLUE   HERON  71 

parently  a  perch  (?),  some  seven  inches  long  originally, 
with  three  or  four  pebble-shaped,  compact  masses  of  the 
fur  of  some  very  small  quadruped,  as  a  meadow  mouse, 
some  one  fourth  inch  thick  by  three  fourths  in  diameter, 
also  several  wing-cases  of  black  beetles  such  as  I  see  on 
the  meadow  flood. 

[See  also  under  Great  Blue  Heron, p.  79;  Kingbird, 
p.  218.] 

GREAT   BLUE   HERON 

1850.  John  Garfield  brought  me  this  morning  (Sep- 
tember 6th)  a  young  great  heron  (^Ardea  Herodias)^ 
which  he  shot  this  morning  on  a  pine  tree  on  the  North 
Branch.^  It  measured  four  feet,  nine  inches,  from  bill 
to  toe  and  six  feet  in  alar  extent,  and  belongs  to  a  dif- 
ferent race  from  myself  and  Mr.  Frost. ^  I  am  glad  to 
recognize  him  for  a  native  of  America,  —  why  not  an 
American  citizen  ? 

•  April  19,  1852.  Scared  up  three  blue  herons  in  the 
little  pond  close  by,  quite  near  us.  It  was  a  grand  sight 
to  see  them  rise,  so  slow  and  stately,  so  long  and  lim- 
ber, with  an  undulating  motion  from  head  to  foot, 
undulating  also  their  large  wings,  undulating  in  two 
directions,  and  looking  warily  about  them.  With  this 
graceful,  limber,  undulating  motion  they  arose,  as  if  so 
they  got  under  way,  their  two  legs  trailing  parallel  far 
behind  like  an  earthy  residuum  to  be  left  behind.  They 
are  large,  like  birds  of  Syrian  lands,  and  seemed  to  op- 
press the  earth,  and  hush  the  hillside  to  silence,  as  they 

1  [The  Assabet  River.] 

2  [Rev.  Barzillai  Frost,  the  Concord  minister.] 


72     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

winged  their  way  over  it,  looking  back  toward  tis.  It 
would  affect  our  thoughts,  deepen  and  perchance  darken 
our  reflections,  if  such  huge  birds  flew  in  numbers  in 
our  sky.  Have  the  effect  of  magnetic  passes!  They 
are  few  and  rare.  Among  the  birds  of  celebrated 
flight,  storks,  cranes,  geese,  and  ducks.  The  legs  hang 
down  like  a  weight  which  they  [  ?]  raise,  to  pumj) 
up  as  it  were  with  its  [sic]  wings  and  convey  out  of 
danger. 

To  see  the  larger  and  wilder  birds,  you  must  go  forth 
in  the  great  storms  like  this.  At  such  times  they  fre- 
quent our  neighborhood  and  trust  themselves  in  our 
midst.  A  life  of  fair-weather  walks  might  never  show 
you  the  goose  sailing  on  our  waters,  or  the  great  heron 
feeding  here.  When  the  storm  increases,  then  these 
great  birds  that  carry  the  mail  of  the  seasons  lay  to. 
To  see  wild  life  you  must  go  forth  at  a  wild  season. 
When  it  rains  and  blows,  keeping  men  indoors,  then 
the  lover  of  Nature  must  forth.  Then  returns  Nature 
to  her  wild  estate.  In  pleasant  sunny  weather  you  may 
catch  butterflies,  but  only  when  the  storm  rages  that 
lays  prostrate  the  forest  and  wrecks  the  mariner,  do 
you  come  upon  the  feeding-grounds  of  wildest  fowl, — 
of  heron  and  geese. 

May  14,  1853.  Suddenly  there  start  up  from  the 
riverside  at  the  entrance  of  Fair  Haven  Pond,  scared 
by  our  sail,  two  great  blue  herons, — slate-color  rather, 
—  slowly  flapping  and  undulating,  their  projecting 
breast-bones  very  visible,  —  or  is  it  possibly  their  necks 
bent  back?  — their  lesrs  stuck  out  straig^ht  behind.  Get- 


(iKEAT   KLIE    HEKOXS   AXl)   NEST 


GREAT   BLUE   HERON  73 

ting  higher  by  their  flight,  they  straight  come  back  to 
reconnoitre  us. 

Land  at  Lee's  Cliff,  where  the  herons  have  preceded 
us  and  are  perched  on  the  oaks,  conspicuous  from  afar, 
and  again  we  have  a  fair  view  of  their  flight. 

Again  we  scare  up  the  herons,  who,  methinks,  will 
build  hereabouts.  They  were  standing  by  the  water- 
side. And  again  they  alight  farther  below,  and  we  see 
their  light-colored  heads  erect,  and  their  bodies  at  vari- 
ous angles  as  they  stoop  to  drink.  And  again  they  flap 
away  with  their  great  slate-blue  wings,  necks  curled 
up  (?)  and  legs  straight  out  behind,  and,  having  at- 
tained a  great  elevation,  they  circle  back  over  our 
heads,  now  seemingly  black  as  crows  against  the  sky, 
—  crows  with  long  wings,  they  might  be  taken  for,  — 
but  higher  and  higher  they  mount  by  stages  in  the  sky, 
till  heads  and  tails  are  lost  and  they  are  mere  black 
wavelets  amid  the  blue,  one  always  following  close  be- 
hind the  other.  They  are  evidently  mated.  It  would  be 
worth  the  while  if  we  could  see  them  oftener  in  our  sky. 

Azig.  23,  1853.  I  see  to-day  —  and  may  add  to  yes- 
terday's list  —  the  blue  heron  launch  off  from  an  oak  by 
the  river  and  flap  or  sail  away  with  lumbering  flight; 
also  kingbirds  and  crows. 

Sept.  14,  1854.  We  see  half  a  dozen  herons  in  this 
voyage.  Their  wings  are  so  long  in  proportion  to  their 
bodies  that  there  seems  to  be  more  than  one  undulation 
to  a  wing  as  they  are  disappearing  in  the  distance,  and 
so  you  can  distinguish  them.  You  see  another  begin  be- 
fore the  first  has  ended.  It  is  remarkable  how  common 


74     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

these  birds  are  about  our  sluggish  and  marshy  river. 
We  must  attract  them  from  a  wide  section  of  country. 
It  abounds  in  those  fenny  districts  and  meadow  pond- 
holes  in  which  they  delight. 

April  15,  1855.  Returning,  we  had  a  fine  view  of 
a  blue  heron,  standing  erect  and  open  to  view  on  a 
meadow  island,  by  the  great  swamp  south  of  the  bridge, 
looking  as  broad  as  a  boy  on  the  side,  and  then  some 
sheldrakes  sailing  in  the  smooth  water  beyond.  These 
soon  sailed  behind  points  of  meadow.  The  heron  flew 
away,  and  one  male  sheldrake  flew  past  us  low  over 
the  water,  reconnoitring,  large  and  brilliant  black  and 
white.  When  the  heron  takes  to  flight,  what  a  change 
in  size  and  appearance !  It  is  presto  change  I  There  go 
two  great  undulating  wings  pinned  together,  but  the 
body  and  rteck  must  have  been  left  behind  somewhere. 

Aug.  5,  1855.  As  I  was  paddling  back  at  6  a.  m., 
saw,  nearly  half  a  mile  off,  a  blue  heron  standing  erect 
on  the  topmost  twig  of  the  great  buttonwood  on  the 
street  in  front  of  Mr.  Prichard's  house, ^  while  pei'haps 
all  within  were  abed  and  asleep.  Little  did  they  think 
of  it,  and  how  they  were  presided  over.  He  looked  at 
first  like  a  spiring  twig  against  the  sky,  till  you  saw  him 
flap  his  wings.  Presently  he  launched  off  and  flew  away 
over  Mrs.  Brooks's  house. 

Oct.  29,  1855.  Returning,  I  scare  up  a  blue  heron 
from  the  bathing-rock  this  side  the  Island.  It  is  whitened 
by  its  droppings,  in  great  splotches  a  foot  or  more 
wide.  He  has  evidently  frequented  it  to  watch  for  fish 
there. 

^  [In  the  centre  of  the  village  of  Concord.] 


GREAT   BLUE   HERON  75 

Nov.  1,  1855.  As  I  pushed  up  the  river  past  Hil- 
dreth's,  I  saw  the  blue  heron  (probably  of  last  Monday) 
arise  from  the  shore  and  disappear  with  heavily-flapping 
wings  around  a  bend  in  front ;  the  greatest  of  the  bit- 
terns (-4r<?ece),  with  heavily -undulating  wings,  low  over 
the  water,  seen  against  the  woods,  just  disappearing 
round  a  bend  in  front ;  with  a  great  slate-colored  ex- 
panse of  wing,  suited  to  the  shadows  of  the  stream,  a 
tempered  blue  as  of  the  sky  and  dark  water  commingled. 
This  is  the  aspect  under  which  the  Musketaquid^  might 
be  represented  at  this  season :  a  long,  smooth  lake,  re- 
flecting the  bare  willows  and  button-bushes,  the  stubble, 
and  the  wool-grass  on  its  tussock,  a  muskrat-cabin  or 
two  conspicuous  on  its  margin  amid  the  unsightly  tops 
of  pontederia,  and  a  bittern  disappearing  on  undulating 
wing  around  a  bend. 

April  26,  1856.  A  blue  heron  sails  away  from  a  pine 
at  Holden  Swamp  shore  and  alights  on  the  meadow 
above.  Again  he  flies,  and  alights  on  the  hard  Conantum 
side,  where  at  length  I  detect  him  standing  far  away 
stake-like  (his  body  concealed),  eying  me  and  depending 
on  his  stronger  vision. 

Aug.  16,  1858.  A  blue  heron,  with  its  great  undulat- 
ing wings,  prominent  cutwater,  and  leisurely  flight,  goes 
over  southwest,  cutting  off  the  bend  of  the  river  west  of 
our  house. 

Aug.  19,  1858.  When  I  see  the  first  heron,  like  a 

dusky  blue  wave  undulating  over  our  meadows  again,  I 

think,  since  I  saw  them  going  northward  the  other  day, 

how  many  of  these  forms  have  been  added  to  the  land- 

1  [The  Concord  River.  See  note,  pp.  SO,  81.] 


76     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

scape,  complete  from  bill  to  toe,  while,  perhaps,  I  have 
idled !  I  see  two  herons.  A  small  bird  is  pursuing  the 
heron  as  it  does  a  hawk.  Perhaps  it  is  a  blackbird  and 
the  herons  gobble  up  their  young  ! 

Sept.  18,  1858.  Near  the  pond  ^  we  scare  up  twenty 
or  thirty  ducks,  and  at  the  pond  three  blue  herons. 
They  are  of  a  hoary  blue.  One  flies  afar  and  alights  on 
a  limb  of  a  large  white  pine  near  Well  Meadow  Head, 
bending  it  down.  I  see  him  standing  there  with  out- 
stretched neck. 

Aug.  14,  1859.  When  I  reached  the  upper  end  of 
this  weedy  bar,  at  about  3  p.  m.,  this  warm  day,  I 
noticed  some  light-colored  object  in  mid-river,  near  the 
other  end  of  the  bar.  At  first  I  thought  of  some  larsre 
stake  or  board  standing  amid  the  weeds  there,  then  of 
a  fisherman  in  a  brown  holland  sack,  referring  him  to 
the  shore  beyond.  Supposing  it  the  last,  I  floated  nearer 
and  nearer  till  I  saw  plainly  enough  the  motions  of  the 
person,  whoever  it  was,  and  that  it  was  no  stake.  Look- 
ing through  my  glass  thirty  or  forty  rods  off,  I  thought 
certainly  that  I  saw  C.,-  who  had  just  bathed,  making 
signals  to  me  with  his  towel,  for  I  referred  the  object  to 
the  shore  twenty  rods  further.  I  saw  his  motions  as  he 
wiped  himself,  — the  movements  of  his  elbows  and  his 
towel.  Then  I  saw  that  the  person  was  nearer  and  there- 
fore smaller,  that  it  stood  on  the  sand-bar  in  mid-stream 
in  shallow  water  and  must  be  some  maiden  in  a  bath- 
ing-dress,—  for  it  was  the  color  of  brown  holland  web, 
—  and  a  very  peculiar  kind  of  dress  it  seemed.  But 
about  this  time  I  discovered  with  my  naked  eye  that  it 

1  [Fairhaven  Pond.]  2  |-^.  £_  Channing.] 


GREAT   BLUE   HERON  77 

was  a  blue  heron  standing  in  very  shallow  water  amid 
the  weeds  of  the  bar  and  pluming  itself.  I  had  not 
noticed  its  legs  at  all,  and  its  head,  neck,  and  wings,  be- 
ing constantly  moving,  I  had  mistaken  for  arms,  elbows, 
and  towel  of  a  bather,  and  when  it  stood  stiller  its 
shapely  body  looked  like  a  peculiar  bathing-dress.  I 
floated  to  within  twenty-five  rods  and  watched  it  at  my 
leisure.  Standing  on  the  shallowest  part  of  the  bar  at 
that  end,  it  was  busily  dressing  its  feathers,  passing  its 
bill  like  a  comb  down  its  feathers  from  base  to  tip. 
From  its  form  and  color,  as  well  as  size,  it  was  singu- 
larly distinct.  Its  great  spear-shaped  head  and  bill  was 
very  conspicuous,  though  least  so  when  turned  toward 
me  (whom  it  was  eying  from  time  to  time).  It  coils  its 
neck  away  upon  its  back  or  breast  as  a  sailor  might  a 
rope,  but  occasionally  stretches  itself  to  its  full  height, 
as  tall  as  a  man,  and  looks  around  and  at  me.  Growing 
shy,  it  begins  to  wade  off,  until  its  body  is  partly  im- 
mersed amid  the  weeds, — potamogetons, —  and  then  it 
looks  more  like  a  goose.  The  neck  is  continually  vary- 
ing in  length,  as  it  is  doubled  up  or  stretched  out,  and 
the  legs  also,  as  it  wades  in  deeper  or  shallower  water. 
Suddenly  comes  a  second,  flying  low,  and  alights  on 
the  bar  yet  nearer  to  me,  almost  high  and  dry.  Then 
I  hear  a  note  from  them,  perhaps  of  warning,  —  a 
short,  coarse,  frog-like  purring  or  eructating  sound. 
You  might  easily  mistake  it  for  a  frog.  I  heard  it  half 
a  dozen  times.  It  was  not  very  loud.  Anything  but 
musical.  The  last  proceeds  to  plume  himself,  looking 
warily  at  me  from  time  to  time,  while  the  other  continues 
to  edge  off  through  the  weeds.  Now  and  then  the  latter 


78     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

holds  its  neck  as  if  it  were  ready  to  strike  its  prey,  — 
stretched  forward  over  the  water,  —  but  I  saw  no 
stroke.  The  arch  may  be  lengthened  or  shortened,  sin- 
gle or  double,  but  the  great  spear-shaped  bill  and  head 
are  ever  the  same.  A  great  hammer  or  pick,  prepared 
to  transfix  fish,  frog,  or  bird.  At  last,  the  water  be- 
coming too  deep  for  wading,  this  one  takes  easily  to 
wing — though  up  to  his  body  in  water  —  and  flies  a 
few  rods  to  the  shore.  It  rather  flies,  then,  than  swims. 
It  was  evidently  scared.  These  were  probably  birds 
of  this  season.  I  saw  some  distinct  ferruginous  on  the 
angle  of  the  wing.  There  they  stood  in  the  midst  of 
the  open  river,  on  this  shallow  and  weedy  bar  in  the 
sun,  the  leisurely  sentries,  lazily  pluming  themselves, 
as  if  the  day  were  too  long  for  them.  They  gave  a  new 
character  to  the  stream.  Adjutant  they  were  to  my 
idea  of  the  river,  these  two  winged  men. 

You  have  not  seen  our  weedy  river,  you  do  not  know 
the  significance  of  its  weedy  bars,  until  you  have  seen 
the  blue  heron  wading  and  pluming  itself  on  it.  I  see 
that  it  was  made  for  these  shallows,  and  they  for  it. 
Now  the  heron  is  gone  from  the  weedy  shoal,  the  scene 
appears  incomplete.  Of  course,  the  heron  has  sounded 
the  depth  of  the  water  on  every  bar  of  the  river  that  is 
fordable  to  it.  The  water  there  is  not  so  many  feet  deep,> 
but  so  many  heron's  tibiae.  Instead  of  a  foot  rule  you 
should  use  a  heron's  leg  for  a  measure.  If  you  would 
know  the  depth  of  the  water  on  these  few  shoalest  places 
of  Musketaquid,  ask  the  blue  heron  that  wades  and 
fishes  there.  In  some  places  a  heron  can  wade  across. 

How  long  we  may  have  gazed  on  a  particular  scenery 


GREEN   HERON;   GREEN   BITTERN      79 

and  think  that  we  have  seen  and  known  it,  when,  at 
length,  some  bird  or  quadruped  comes  and  takes  pos- 
session of  it  before  our  eyes,  and  imparts  to  it  a  wholly 
new  character  !  The  heron  uses  these  shallows  as  I  can- 
not. I  give  them  up  to  him. 

Oct.  10,  1860.  Horace  Mann  shows  me  the  skeleton 
of  a  blue  heron.  The  neck  is  remarkably  strong,  and 
the  bill.  The  latter  is  5  +  inches  long  to  the  feathers 
above  and  6|  to  the  gape.  A  stake-driver  which  he  has, 
freshly  killed,  has  a  bill  3  inches  long  above  and  4|^  to 
the  gape  and  between  |  and  |  deep  vertically  at  the 
base.  This  bird  weighs  a  little  over  two  pounds,  being 
quite  large  and  fat.  Its  nails  are  longer  and  less  curved 
than  those  of  the  heron.  The  sharp  bill  of  the  heron, 
like  a  stout  pick,  wielded  by  that  long  and  stout  neck, 
would  be  a  very  dangerous  weapon  to  encounter.  He 
has  made  a  skeleton  of  the  fish  hawk  which  was  brought 
to  me  within  a  month.  I  remark  the  great  eye-sockets, 
and  the  claws,  and  perhaps  the  deep,  sharp  breast- 
bone. Including  its  strong  hooked  bill  it  is  clawed  at 
both  ends,  harpy-like. 

\_See  also  under  American  Bittern,  pp.  68,  69 ;  Fish 
Hawk,  p.  159.] 

GREEN   HERON  ;    GREEN   BITTERN 

June  11,  1840.^  We  stole  noiselessly  down  the 
stream,  occasionally  driving  a  pickerel  from  the  cov- 
ert of  the  pads,  or  a  bream  from  her  nest,  and  the 
small  green  bittern  would  now  and  then  sail  away  on 

^  [Under  this  date  Thoreau  enters  in  his  Journal  some  notes  of  the 
Concord  and  Merrimac  excursion  of  August  and  September,  1839.] 


80    NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

sluggish  wings  from  some  recess  of  the  shore.  With  its 
patient  study  by  rocks  and  sandy  capes,  has  it  wrested 
the  whole  of  her  secret  from  Nature  yet?  It  has  looked 
out  from  its  dull  eye  for  so  long,  standing  on  one  leg, 
on  moon  and  stars  sparkling  through  silence  and  dark, 
and  now  what  a  rich  experience  is  its !  What  says  it 
of  stagnant  pools,  and  reeds,  and  damp  night  fogs  ?  It 
would  be  worth  while  to  look  in  the  eye  which  has  been 
open  and  seeing  at  such  hours  and  in  such  solitudes. 
When  I  behold  that  dull  yellowish  green,  I  wonder  if 
my  own  soul  is  not  a  bright,  invisible  green.  I  would 
fain  lay  my  eye  side  by  side  with  its  and  learn  of  it. 

June  25,  1854.  A  green  bittern,  apparently,  awk- 
wardly alighting  on  the  trees  and  uttering  its  hoarse, 
zarry  note,  zsJceow-zskeow-zsheoio. 

July  12,  1854.  I  see  a  green  bittern  wading  in  a 
shallow  muddy  place,  with  an  awkward  teetering,  flut- 
tering pace. 

Aug.  2,  1856.  A  green  bittern  comes,  noiselessly 
flapping,  with  stealthy  and  inquisitive  looking  to  this 
side  the  stream  and  then  that,  thirty  feet  above  the 
water.  This  antediluvian  bird,  creature  of  the  night,  is 
a  fit  emblem  of  a  dead  stream  like  this  Musketicook.  ^ 
This  especially  is  the  bird  of  the  river.  There  is  a  sym- 
pathy between  its  sluggish  flight  and  the  sluggish  flow 
of  the  stream,  —  its  slowly  lapsing  flight,  even  like  the 
rills  of  Musketicook  and  my  own  pulse  sometimes. 

^  [The  Concord  River.  Musketaquid  was  the  Indian  name  for  Con- 
cord. On  his  Maine  woods  excursion  in  1853,  Thoreau  had  asked 
some  Indians  what  it  meant,  "  but  they  changed  it  to  Musketicook,  and 
repeated  that,  and  Tahmunt  said  that  it  meant  Dead  Stream,  which  is 


VIRGINIA   RAIL;   MEADOW-HEN      81 

Aug.  1, 1858.  Edward  Bartlett  ^  and  another  brought 
me  a  green  bittern,  this  year's  bird,  apparently  full 
grown  but  not  full  plumaged,  which  they  caught  near 
the  pool  on  A.  Iley wood's  land  behind  Sleepy  Hollow. 
They  caught  it  in  the  woods  on  the  hillside.  It  had  not 
yet  acquired  the  long  feathers  of  the  neck.  The  neck 
was  bent  back  on  itself  an  inch  or  more,  —  that  part 
being  bare  of  feathers  and  covered  by  the  long  feathers 
from  above,  —  so  that  it  did  not  appear  very  long  until 
stretched  out.  This  doubling  was  the  usual  condition 
and  not  apparent,  but  could  be  felt  by  the  hand.  So 
the  green  bitterns  are  leaving  the  nest  now. 

VIRGINIA   RAIL;   MEADOW-HEN 

June  16,  1853.  Coming  down  the  river,  heard  oppo- 
site the  new  houses,  where  I  stopped  to  pluck  the  tall 
grass,  a  sound  as  of  young  blackbirds  amid  the  button- 
bushes.  After  a  long  while  gazing,  standing  on  the  roots 
of  the  button-bushes,  I  detected  a  couple  of  meadow  or 
mud  hens  (^Rallus  Virginianus)  gliding  about  under 
the  button-bushes  over  the  mud  and  through  the  shal- 
low water,  and  uttering  a  squeaking  or  squawking  note, 
as  if  they  had  a  nest  there  or  young.  Bodies  about  the 
size  of  a  robin;  short  tail;  wings  and  tail  white-edged; 
bill  about  one  and  a  half  inches  long,  orange  beneath 
in  one  bird;  brown,  deepening  into  black  spots  above; 
turtle-dove  color  on  breasts  and  beneath;  ashy  about 
eyes  and  cheeks.   Seemed  not  willing  to  fly,  and  for  a 

probably  true.     Cook  appears  to  mean  stream,  and  perhaps  quid  signi- 
fies the  place  or  ground."] 

^  [One  of  Thoreau's  boy  friends  in  Concord.] 


82     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

long  time  unwilling  to  pass  me,  because  it  must  come 
near  to  keep  under  the  button-bushes. 

SORA  ;    CAROLINA   RAIL 

Oct.  3, 1858.  One  brings  me  this  morning  a  Carolina 
rail  alive,  this  year's  bird  evidently  from  its  marks.  He 
saved  it  from  a  cat  in  the  road  near  the  Battle-Ground. 
On  being  taken  up,  it  pecked  a  little  at  first,  but  was 
soon  quiet.  It  staggers  about  as  if  weak  on  my  window- 
sill  and  pecks  at  the  glass,  or  stands  with  its  eyes  shut, 
half  asleep,  and  its  back  feathers  hunched  up.  Possibly 
it  is  wounded.  I  suspect  it  may  have  been  hatched  here. 
Its  feet  are  large  and  spreading,  qualifying  it  to  run 
on  mud  or  pads.  Its  crown  is  black,  but  chin  white, 
and  its  back  feathers  are  distinctly  edged  with  white  in 
streaks. 

RAIL    (unidentified) 

July  16,  1860.  Standing  amid  the  pipes  of  the  Great 
Meadow,  I  hear  a  very  sharp  creaking  peep.,  no  doubt 
from  a  rail  quite  near  me,  calling  to  or  directing  her 
young,  who  are  meanwhile  uttering  a  very  faint,  some- 
what similar  peep,  which  you  would  not  hear  if  not  very 
much  inclined  to  hear  it,  in  the  grass  close  around  me. 
Sometimes  the  old  bird  utters  two  short,  sharp  creaks. 
I  look  sharp,  but  can  see  nothing  of  them.  She  sounds 
now  here,  now  there,  within  two  or  three  rods  of  me, 
incessantly  running  in  the  grass.  I  had  already  heard, 
more  distant,  a  more  prolonged  note  from  some  water- 
fowl, perhaps  a  plover,  if  not  possibly  a  male  rail,  here- 
abouts. 


AMERICAN   COOT  83 

AMERICAN   COOT 

April  24,  1856.  Goodwin  shot,  about  6  P.  M.,  and 
brought  to  me  a  cinereous  coot  (^Fulica  Americana) 
which  was  flying  over  the  willows  at  Willow  Bay,  where 
the  water  now  runs  up. 

It  measures  fourteen  inches  to  end  of  tail ;  eighteen 
and  one  half  to  end  of  legs.  Tail  projects  a  half-inch 
beyond  closed  wings.  Alar  extent  twenty-six  inches. 
(These  dimensions  are  somewhat  stretched.)  Above  it 
is  a  bluish  slate,  passing  into  olive  behind  the  wings, 
the  primaries  more  brownish.  Beneath,  ash-color  or 
pale  slate.  Head  and  neck,  uniform  deep  black.  Legs, 
clear  green  in  front,  passing  into  lead-color  behind  and 
on  the  lobes.  Edging  of  wings,  white ;  also  the  tips  of 
the  secondaries  for  one  fourth  of  an  inch,  and  a  small 
space  under  the  tail.  Wings  beneath,  very  light,  almost 
silvery,  slate.  Vent,  for  a  small  space,  black.  Bill, 
bluish-white,  with  a  chestnut  bar  near  tip,  and  corre- 
sponding chestnut  spot  on  each  side  of  lower  mandible 
and  a  somewhat  diamond-shaped  chestnut  spot  at  base 
in  front.  No  noticeable  yellow  on  bill.  Irides,  reddish. 
No  noticeable  whitish  spot  beneath  eyes ;  only  bare  lid. 
Legs  and  feet  are  very  neat ;  talons  very  slender,  curv- 
ing, and  sharp,  the  middle  ones  ^  inch  -h  long.  Lobes 
chiefly  on  the  inner  side  of  the  toes.  Legs  bare  half  an 
inch  above  the  joint.  From  its  fresh  and  tender  look  I 
judge  it  to  be  a  last  year's  bird.  It  is  quite  lousy. 


V 

SHORE-BIRDS 

WOODCOCK 

Oct.  27,  1851.  Saw  a  woodcock '  feeding,  probing 
the  mud  with  its  long  bill,  under  the  railroad  bridge 
within  two  feet  of  me  for  a  long  time.  Could  not  scare 
it  far  away.  What  a  disproportionate  length  of  bill ! 
It  is  a  sort  of  badge  they  [wear]  as  a  punishment  for 
greediness  in  a  former  state. 

July  9,  1852.  Nowadays  I  scare  up  the  woodcock  (?) 
by  shaded  brooks  and  springs  in  the  woods.  It  has  a 
carry-legs  flight  and  goes  off  with  a  sort  of  whistle. 

Dec.  17,  1856.  At  Clamshell,  to  my  surprise,  scare 
up  either  a  woodcock  or  a  snipe.  I  think  the  former, 
for  I  plainly  saw  considerable  red  on  the  breast,  also  a 
light  stripe  along  the  neck.  It  was  feeding  alone,  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  hiU,  where  it  is  springy  and  still  soft, 
almost  the  only  place  of  this  character  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  though  I  started  it  three  times,  it  each  time 
flew  but  little  way,  round  to  the  hillside  again,  perhaps 
the  same  spot  it  had  left  a  moment  before,  as  if  un- 
willing to  leave  this  unfrozen  and  comparatively  warm 
locality.  It  was  a  great  surprise  this  bitter  cold  day, 
when  so  many  springs  were  frozen  up,  to  see  this  hardy 
bird  loitering  still.  Once  alighted,  you  could  not  see  it 
till  it  arose  again. 

^  Or  snipe  ? 


I 
1 


WOODCOCK  86 

Nov.  21,  1857.  Just  above  the  grape-hung  birches, 
my  attention  was  drawn  to  a  singular-looking  dry  leaf 
or  parcel  of  leaves  on  the  shore  about  a  rod  off.  Then  I 
thought  it  might  be  the  dry  and  yellowed  skeleton  of  a 
bird  with  all  its  ribs  ;  then  the  shell  of  a  turtle,  or  possibly 
some  large  dry  oak  leaves  peculiarly  curved  and  cut ;  and 
then,  all  at  once,  I  saw  that  it  was  a  woodcock,  perfectly 
still,  with  its  head  drawn  in,  standing  on  its  great  pink 
feet.  I  had,  apparently,  noticed  only  the  yellowish-brown 
portions  of  the  plumage,  referring  the  dark-brown  to 
the  shore  behind  it.  May  it  not  be  that  the  yellowish- 
brown  markings  of  the  bird  correspond  somewhat  to  its 
skeleton?  At  any  rate  with  my  eye  steadily  on  it  from 
a  point  within  a  rod,  I  did  not  for  a  considerable  time 
suspect  it  to  be  a  living  creature.  Examining  the  shore 
after  it  had  flown  with  a  whistling  flight,  I  saw  that 
there  was  a  clear  space  of  mud  between  the  water  and 
the  edge  of  ice-crystals  about  two  inches  wide,  melted 
so  far  by  the  lapse  of  the  water,  and  all  along  the  edge  of 
the  ice,  for  a  rod  or  two  at  least,  there  was  a  hole  where 
it  had  thrust  its  bill  down,  probing,  every  half-inch,  fre- 
quently closer.  Some  animal  life  must  be  collected  at 
that  depth  just  in  that  narrow  space,  savory  morsels  for 
this  bird. 

I  was  paddling  along  slowly,  on  the  lookout  for  what 
was  to  be  seen,  when  my  attention  was  caught  by  a 
strange-looking  leaf  or  bunch  of  leaves  on  the  shore,  close 
to  the  water's  edge,  a  rod  distant.  I  thought  to  myself,  I 
may  as  well  investigate  that,  and  so  pushed  slowly  toward 
it,  my  eyes  resting  on  it  all  the  while.  It  then  looked  like 
a  small  shipwrecked  hulk  and,  strange  to  say,  like  the 


86     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

bare  skeleton  of  a  fowl  that  has  been  picked  and  turned 
yellowish,  resting  on  its  breast-bone,  the  color  of  a  with- 
ered black  or  red  oak  leaf.  Again  I  thought  it  must  be 
such  a  leaf  or  cluster  of  leaves  peculiarly  curved  and  cut 
or  torn  on  the  upper  edges. 

The  chubby  bird  dashed  away  zigzag,  carrying  its  long 
tongue-case  carefully  before  it,  over  the  witch-hazel 
bushes.  This  is  its  walk,  —  the  portion  of  the  shore,  the 
narrow  strip,  still  kept  open  and  unfrozen  between  the 
water's  edge  and  the  ice.  The  sportsman  might  discover 
its  neighborhood  by  these  probings. 

Wilson's  snipe 

Feb.  27,  1853.  Mr.  Herbert  is  strenuous  that  I  say 
"ruffed  grouse "  for  "  partridge"  and  "  hare  "  for  " rab- 
bit." He  says  of  the  snipe,  "I  am  myself  satisfied  that 
the  sound  is  produced  by  the  fact  that  the  bird,  by  some 
muscular  action  or  other,  turns  the  quill-feathers  edge- 
wise, as  he  drops  plumb  through  the  air ;  and  that  while 
in  this  position,  during  his  accelerated  descent,  the  vibra- 
tion of  the  feathers  and  the  passage  of  the  air  between 
them  gives  utterance  to  this  wild  humming  sound." 

April  10,  1854.  There  are  many  snipes  now  feeding 
in  the  meadows,  which  you  come  close  upon,  and  then  they 
go  off  with  hoarse  cr-r-r-ack  cr-r-r-ack.  They  dive  down 
suddenly  from  a  considerable  height  sometimes  when 
they  alight. 

April  18,  1854.  Scared  up  snipes  on  the  meadow's 
edge,  which  go  off  with  their  strange  zigzag,  crazy  flight 
and  a  distressed  sound,  —  craik  craik  or  cr-r-acJc  cr-r- 
rack.  One  booms  now  at  3  p.  m.  They  circle  round  and 


WILSON'S   SNIPE  87 

round,  and  zigzag  high  over  the  meadow,  and  finally 
alight  again,  descending  abruptly  from  that  height. 

April  20, 1854.  The  sound  of  the  snipes,  winnowing 
the  evening  air  now  at  starlight,  visible  but  for  an  in- 
stant high  over  the  meadows,  is  heard  far  into  the  village, 
—  hoo  hoo  hoo  hoo  hoo  hoo,  rising  higher  and  higher 
or  dying  away  as  they  circle  round,  —  a  ghostly  sound. 

April  15,  1856.  At  the  same  time,  I  hear  a  part  of 
the  hovering  note  of  my  first  snipe,  circling  over  some 
distant  meadow,  a  mere  waif,  and  all  is  still  again. 
A-lulling  the  watery  meadows,  fanning  the  air  like  a 
spirit  over  some  far  meadow's  bay. 

April  25,  1856.  I  landed  on  Merrick's  pasture  near 
the  rock,  and  when  I  stepped  out  of  the  boat  and  drew 
it  up,  a  snipe  flew  up,  and  lit  again  seven  or  eight  rods 
off.  After  trying  in  vain  for  several  minutes  to  see  it 
on  the  ground  there,  I  advanced  a  step  and,  to  my  sur- 
prise, scared  up  two  more,  which  had  squatted  on  the 
bare  meadow  all  the  while  within  a  rod,  while  I  drew 
up  my  boat  and  made  a  good  deal  of  noise.  In  short,  I 
scared  up  twelve,  one  or  two  at  a  time,  within  a  few 
rods,  which  were  feeding  on  the  edge  of  the  meadow 
just  laid  bare,  each  rising  with  a  sound  like  squeak 
squeak,  hoarsely.  That  part  of  the  meadow  seemed  all 
alive  with  them.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  see  one  on 
the  meadow,  they  squat  and  run  so  low,  and  are  so 
completely  the  color  of  the  ground.  They  rise  from 
within  a  rod,  fly  half  a  dozen  rods,  and  then  drop  down 
on  the  bare  open  meadow  before  your  eyes,  where 
there  seems  not  stubble  enough  to  conceal  them, 
and    are   at   once  lost  as   completely  as  if    they   liad 


88    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

sunk  into  the  earth.  I  observed  that  some,  wheo 
finally  seared  from  this  island,  flew  off  rising  quite 
high,  one  a  few  rods  behind  the  other,  in  their  peculiar 
zigzag  manner,  rambling  about  high  over  the  meadow, 
making  it  uncertain  where  they  would  settle,  till  at 
length  I  lost  sight  of  one  and  saw  the  other  drop 
down  almost  perpendicularly  into  the  meadow,  as  it 
appeared. 

March  29, 1858.  At  the  first  pool  I  also  scared  up  a 
snipe.  It  rises  with  a  single  cra-a-ck  and  goes  off  with 
its  zigzag  flight,  with  its  bill  presented  to  the  earth, 
ready  to  charge  bayonets  against  the  inhabitants  of  the 
mud. 

April  9,  1858.  I  hear  the  booming  of  snipe  this 
evening,  and  Sophia  *  says  she  heard  them  on  the  6th. 
The  meadows  having  been  bare  so  long,  they  may  have 
begun  yet  earlier.  Persons  walking  up  or  down  our 
village  street  in  still  evenings  at  this  season  hear  this 
singular  winnowing  sound  in  the  sky  over  the  meadows 
and  know  not  what  it  is.  This  "  dooming  "  of  the  snipe 
is  our  regular  village  serenade.  I  heard  it  this  evening 
for  the  first  time,  as  I  sat  in  the  house,  through  the 
window.  Yet  common  and  annual  and  remarkable  as  it 
is,  not  one  in  a  hundred  of  the  villagers  hears  it,  and 
hardly  so  many  know  what  it  is.  Yet  the  majority 
know  of  the  Germanians  who  have  only  been  here 
once.  Mr.  Hoar  was  almost  the  only  inhabitant  of  this 
street  whom  I  had  heard  speak  of  this  note,  which  he 
used  annually  to  hear  and  listen  for  in  his  sundown  or 
evening  walks. 

^  [His  sister.] 


GREATER  YELLOW-LEGS  89 

April  2,  1859.  As  I  go  down  the  street  just  after 
sunset,  I  hear  many  snipe  to-night.  This  sound  is  an- 
nually heard  by  the  villagers,  but  always  at  this  hour, 
i.  e.  in  the  twilight,  —  a  hovering  sound  high  in  the 
air,  —  and  they  do  not  know  what  to  refer  it  to.  It  is 
very  easily  imitated  by  the  breath.  A  sort  of  shudder- 
ing with  the  breath.  It  reminds  me  of  calmer  nights. 
Hardly  one  in  a  hundred  hears  it,  and  perhaps  not 
nearly  so  many  know  what  creature  makes  it.  Per- 
haps no  one  dreamed  of  snipe  an  hour  ago,  but  the 
air  seemed  empty  of  such  as  they;  but  as  soon  as  the 
dusk  begins,  so  that  a  bird's  flight  is  concealed,  you 
hear  this  peculiar  spirit-suggesting  sound,  now  far,  now 
near,  heard  through  and  above  the  evening  din  of  the 
village.  I  did  not  hear  one  when  I  returned  up  the 
street  half  an  hour  later. 

\_See  also  under  Woodcock,  p.  84.] 

GREATER  YELLOW-LEGS ;   TELLTALE 

Oct  25,  1853.  p.  M.— Sailed  down  river  to  the 
pitch  pine  hill  behind  Abner  Buttrick's,  with  a  strong 
northwest  wind,  and  cold. 

Saw  a  telltale  on  Cheney's  shore,  close  to  the  water's 
edge.  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  it  is  the  greater  or 
lesser,  but  am  inclined  to  think  that  all  I  have  seen 
are  the  lesser.  ^  It  was  all  white  below  and  dark  above, 
with  a  pure  white  tail  prettily  displayed  in  flying.  It 
kept  raising  its  head  with  a  jerk  as  if  it  had  the  St. 
Vitus's  dance.   It  would  alight  in  the  water  and  swim 

^  [The  date  and  the  note  would  indicate  that  the  bird  was  probably 
the  greater  yellow-legs,  not  the  lesser.] 


90     NOTES   ON   NEW    ENGLAND   BIRDS 

like  a  little  duck.  Once,  when  I  went  ashore  and 
started  it,  it  flew  so  as  to  bring  a  willow  between  it  and 
me,  and  alighted  quite  near,  much  nearer  than  before, 
to  spy  me.  When  it  went  oif,  it  uttered  a  sharp  te-te-te- 
te-te,  flying  with  quivering  wings,  dashing  about.  I  think 
that  the  storm  of  yesterday  and  last  night  brought  it  up. 
3Iay  31,  1854.  Saw  a  greater  telltale,  and  this  is  the 
only  one  ^  I  have  seen  probably  ;  distinguished  by  its 
size.  It  is  very  watchful,  but  not  timid,  allowing  me  to 
come  quite  near,  while  it  stands  on  the  lookout  at  the 
water's  edge.  It  keeps  nodding  its  head  with  an  awk- 
ward jerk,  and  wades  in  the  water  to  the  middle  of  its 
yellow  legs ;  goes  off  with  a  loud  and  sharp  phe  phe 
phe  phe,  or  something  like  that.  It  acts  the  part  of  the 
telltale,  though  there  are  no  birds  here,  as  if  it  were 
with  a  flock.  Kemarkable  as  a  sentinel  for  other  birds. 

SOLITARY    SANDPIPER 

Sept.  24,  1855.  I  suppose  it  was  the  solitary  sand- 
piper (^Totanus  solitariusy  which  I  saw  feeding  at  the 
water's  edge  on  Cardinal  Shore,  like  a  snipe.  It  was  very 
tame  ;  we  did  not  scare  it  even  by  shouting.  I  walked 
along  the  shore  to  within  twenty-five  feet  of  it,  and  it 
still  ran  toward  me  in  feeding,  and  when  I  flushed  it,  it 
flew  round  and  alighted  between  me  and  C.,^  who  was 
only  three  or  four  rods  off.  It  was  about  as  large  as 
a  snipe ;  had  a  bluish  dusky  bill  about  an  inch  and  a 
quarter  long,  apparently  straight,  which  it  kept  thrust- 
ing into  the  shallow  water  with  a  nibbling  motion,  a 

^  [That  is,  the  only  species  of  telltale.] 

^  [Now  known  as  Uelodromas  solitarius.^  *  [Channing'.] 


SPOTTED   SANDPIPER;   PEETWEET     91 

perfectly  white  belly,  dusky-green  legs;  bright  brown 
and  black  above,  with  duskier  wings.  When  it  flew,  its 
wings,  which  wei'e  uniformly  dark,  hung  down  much, 
and  I  noticed  no  white  above,  and  heard  no  note. 

UPLAND    PLOVER 

June  15,  1860.  As  I  stood  there  I  heard  that  peculiar 
hawk-like  (for  rhythm)  but  more  resonant  or  clanging 
kind  of  scream  which  I  may  have  heard  before  this 
year,  plover-like,  indefinitely  far,  —  over  the  Clamshell 
plain.  After  proceeding  half  a  dozen  rods  toward  the 
hill,  I  heard  the  familiar  willet  note  of  the  upland 
plover  and,  looking  up,  saw  one  standing  erect  —  like 
a  large  telltale,  or  chicken  with  its  head  stretched  up 
—  on  the  rail  fence.  After  a  while  it  flew  off  southwest 
and  low,  then  wheeled  and  went  a  little  higher  down 
the  river.  Of  pigeon  size,  but  quick  quivering  wings. 
Finally  rose  higher  and  flew  more  or  less  zigzag,  as 
if  uncertain  where  it  would  alight,  and  at  last,  when 
almost  out  of  sight,  it  pitched  down  into  a  field  near 
Cyrus  Hubbard's. 

SPOTTED   SANDPIPER;    PEETWEET 

Aug.  22,  1853.  A  peetweet  flew  along  the  shore  and 
uttered  its  peculiar  note.  Their  wings  appear  double  as 
they  fly  by  you,  while  their  bill  is  cumbrously  carried 
pointing  downward  in  front. 

June  14,  1855.  Looked  at  the  peetweet's  nest  which 
C*  found  yesterday.  It  was  very  difficult  to  find  again 
in  the  broad  open  meadow  ;  no  nest  but  a  mere  hollow 

^  [C.  in  Thoreau's  Journal  always  stands  for  his  friend  Channing.] 


92     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

in  the  dead  cranberry  leaves,  the  grass  and  stubble 
ruins,  under  a  little  alder.  The  old  bird  went  off  at  last 
from  under  us  ;  low  in  the  grass  at  first  and  with  wings 
up^  making  a  worried  sound  which  attracted  other  birds. 
I  frequently  noticed  others  afterward  flying  low  over 
the  meadow  and  alighting  and  uttering  this  same  note 
of  alarm.  There  were  only  four  eggs  in  this  nest  yes- 
terday,^ and  to-day,  to  C.'s  surprise,  there  are  the  two 
eggs  which  he  left  and  a  young  peetweet  beside  ;  a  gray 
pinch  of  down  with  a  black  centre  to  its  back,  but  al- 
ready so  old  and  precocious  that  it  runs  with  its  long 
legs  swiftly  off  from  squatting  beside  the  two  eggs,  and 
hides  in  the  grass.  We  have  some  trouble  to  catch  it. 
How  came  it  here  with  these  eggs,  which  will  not  be 
hatched  for  some  days  ?  C.  saw  nothing  of  it  yesterday. 
J.  Farmer  ^  says  that  young  peetweets  run  at  once  like 
partridges  and  quails,  and  that  they  are  the  only  birds  he 
knows  that  do.  These  eggs  were  not  addled  (I  had  opened 
one,  C.  another).  Did  this  bird  come  from  another  nest, 
or  did  it  belong  to  an  earlier  brood .?  Eggs  white,  with 
black  spots  here  and  there  all  over,  dim  at  great  end. 

May  4,  1856.  See  a  peetweet  on  Dove  Kbck,^  which 
just  peeps  out.  As  soon  as  the  rocks  begin  to  be  bare 
the  peetweet  comes  and  is  seen  teetering  on  them  and 
skimming  away  from  me. 

July  6, 1856.  In  A.  Hosmer's  ice-bared  meadow  south 
of  Turnpike,  hear  the  distressed  or  anxious  jieet  of  a 
peetweet,  and  see  it  hovering  over  its  young,  half  grown, 

^  [Channing'  had  taken  two  of  them.] 

^  [Jacob  Farmer,  of  Concord,  a  farmer  by  occupation  and  an  observer 
of  wild  creatures.]  ^  [In  the  Assabet.] 


PLOVER  93 

which  runs  beneath  and  suddenly  hides  securely  in  the 
grass  when  but  few  feet  from  me. 

Sept.  18,  1858.  I  notice  that  the  wing  of  the  peet- 
weet,  which  is  about  two  inches  wide,  has  a  conspicuous 
and  straight-edged  white  bar  along  its  middle  on  the 
under  side  for  half  its  length.  It  is  seven  eighths  of  an 
inch  wide  and,  being  quite  parallel  with  the  darker  parts 
of  the  wing,  it  produces  that  singular  effect  in  its  fly- 
ing which  I  have  noticed.  This  line,  by  the  way,  is  not 
mentioned  by  Wilson,  yet  it  is,  perhaps,  the  most  no- 
ticeable mark  of  the  bird  when  flying !  The  under  side 
of  the  wings  is  commonly  slighted  in  the  description, 
though  it  is  at  least  as  often  seen  by  us  as  the  upper. 

May  2, 1859.  A  peetweet  and  its  mate  at  Mantatuket 
Rock.  The  river  seems  realjy  inhabited  when  the  peet- 
weet is  back  and  those  little  li^t- winged  millers  (  ?). 
This  bird  does  not  return  to  our  stream  until  the  weather 
is  decidedly  pleasant  and  warm.  He  is  perched  on  the 
accustomed  rock.  Its  note  peoples  the  river,  like  the 
prattle  of  children  once  more  in  the  yard  of  a  house  that 
has  stood  empty. 

Hay  8,  1860.  The  simple  peep  peep  of  the  peetweet, 
as  it  flies  away  from  the  shore  before  me,  sounds  hol- 
low and  rather  mournful,  reminding  me  of  the  seashore 
and  its  wrecks,  and  when  I  smell  the  fresh  odor  of  our 
marshes  the  resemblance  is  increased. 

PLOVER 

1850.  As  I  was  stalking  over  the  surface  of  this 
planet  in  the  dark  to-night,  I  started  a  plover  resting  on 
the  ground  and  heard  him  go  off  with  whistling  wings. 


VI 

QUAIL  AND  GROUSE 

bob-white;  quail 

July  21, 1851.  The  quail,  invisible,  whistles,  and  who 
attends  ? 

Jan.  17,  1856.  Henry  Shattuck  tells  me  that  the 
quails  come  almost  every  day  and  get  some  saba  beans 
within  two  or  three  rods  of  his  house,  —  some  which  he 
neglected  to  gather.  Probably  the  deep  snow  drives 
them  to  it. 

Feb.  7,  1857.  Hayden  tl^e  elder  tells  me  that  the 
quails  have  come  to  his  yard  every  day  for  almost  a 
month  and  are  just  as  tame  as  chickens.  They  come 
about  his  wood-shed,  he  supposes  to  pick  up  the  worms 
that  have  dropped  out  of  the  wood,  and  when  it  storms 
hard  gather  together  in  the  corner  of  the  shed.  He 
walks  within,  say,  three  or  four  feet  of  them  without 
disturbing  them.  They  come  out  of  the  woods  by  the 
graveyard,  and  sometimes  they  go  down  toward  the 
river.  They  will  be  about  his  yard  the  greater  part  of 
the  day ;  were  there  yesterday,  though  it  was  so  warm, 
but  now  probably  they  can  get  food  enough  elsewhere. 
They  go  just  the  same  to  Poland's,  across  the  road. 
About  ten  years  ago  there  was  a  bevy  of  fifteen  that 
used  to  come  from  the  same  woods,  and  one  day,  they 
being  in  the  barn  and  scared  by  the  cat,  four  ran  into 
the  hay  and  died  there.  The  former  do  not  go  to  the 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE        95 

houses  further  from  the  woods.  Thus  it  seems  in  severe 
winters  the  quails  venture  out  of  the  woods  and  join  the 
poultry  of  the  farmer's  yard,  if  it  be  near  the  edge  of 
the  wood.  It  is  remarkable  that  this  bird,  which  thus 
half  domesticates  itself,  should  not  be  found  wholly 
domesticated  before  this. 

[>S'ee  also  under'  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  414, 
431.] 

RUFFED  GROUSE;  PARTRIDGE 

1850.  The  fire  stopped  within  a  few  inches  of  a  par- 
tridge's nest  to-day,  June  4th,  whom  we  took  off  in  our 
hands  and  found  thirteen  creamy-colored  eggs.  I  started 
up  a  woodcock  when  I  went  to  a  rill  to  drink,  at  the 
westernmost  angle  of  R.  W.  E.'s  ^  wood-lot. 

June  13, 1851.  I  heard  partridges  drumming  to-night 
as  late  as  9  o'clock.  What  singularly  space  penetrating 
and  filling  sound !  Why  am  I  never  nearer  to  its  source  ? 

July  16,  1851.  Some  thoughtless  and  cruel  sports- 
man has  killed  twenty-two  young  partridges  not  much 
bigger  than  robins,  against  the  laws  of  Massachusetts 
and  humanity. 

Sept.  23, 1851.  The  partridge  and  the  rabbit,  —  they 
still  are  sure  to  thrive  like  true  natives  of  the  soil,  what- 
ever revolutions  occur.  If  the  forest  is  cut  off,  many 
bushes  spring  up  which  afford  them  concealment,  and 
they  become  more  numerous  than  ever. 

Dec.  21,  1851.  Who  ever  saw  a  partridge  soar  over 
the  fields?  To  every  creature  its  own  nature.  They  are 
very  wild  ;  but  are  they  scarce  ?  or  can  you  exterminate 
them  for  that  ? 

^  [Ralph  Waldo  Emerson's.] 


96     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Feb.  18, 1852.  I  find  the  partridges  among  the  fallen 
pine-tops  on  Fair  Haven  these  afternoons,  an  hour  be- 
fore sundown,  ready  to  commence  budding  in  the  neigh- 
boring orchard. 

Ajyril  22,  1852.  Our  dog  sends  off  a  partridge  with 
a  whir,  far  across  the  open  field  and  the  river,  like  a 
winged  bullet. 

May  1,  1852.  A  partridge  bursts  away  from  under 
the  rock  below  me  on  quivering  wings,  like  some  moths 
I  have  seen. 

Jtine  27,  1852.  I  meet  the  partridge  with  her 
brood  in  the  woods,  a  perfect  little  hen.  She  spreads 
her  tail  into  a  fan  and  beats  the  ground  with  her 
wings  fearlessly  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  to  attract 
my  attention  while  her  young  disperse;  but  they 
keep  up  a  faint,  wiry  kind  of  peep,  which  betrays 
them,  while  she  mews  and  squeaks  as  if  giving  them 
directions. 

Oct.  15,  1852.  The  flight  of  a  partridge,  leaving  her 
lair  (?)  on  the  hillside  only  a  few  rods  distant,  with  a 
gentle  whirring  sound,  is  like  the  blowing  of  rocks  at 
a  great  distance.  Perhaps  it  produces  the  same  kind  of 
undulations  in  the  air. 

Aj)ril  6,  1853.  Hear  the  faint,  swelling,  far-off  beat 
of  a  partridge. 

May  11,  1853.  I  hear  the  distant  drumming  of  a 
partridge.  Its  beat,  however  distant  and  low,  falls  still 
with  a  remarkably  forcible,  almost  painful,  impulse  on 
the  ear,  like  veritable  little  drumsticks  on  our  tympa- 
num, as  if  it  were  a  throbbing  or  fluttering  in  our  veins 
or  brows  or  the  chambers  of  the  ear,  and  belonging  to 


BUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE       97 

ourselves,  —  as  if  it  were  produced  by  some  little  in- 
sect which  had  made  its  way  up  into  the  passages  of 
the  ear,  so  penetrating  is  it.  It  is  as  palpable  to  the 
ear  as  the  sharpest  note  of  a  fife.  Of  course,  that  bird 
can  drum  with  its  wings  on  a  log  which  can  go  off  with 
such  a  powerful  whir,  beating  the  air.  I  have  seen  a 
thoroughly  frightened  hen  and  cockerel  fly  almost  as. 
powerfully,  but  neither  can  sustain  it  long.  Beginning 
slowly  and  deliberately,  the  partridge's  beat  sounds 
faster  and  faster  from  far  away  under  the  boughs  and 
through  the  aisles  of  the  wood  until  it  becomes  a  regu- 
lar roll,  but  is  speedily  concluded.  How  many  things 
shall  we  not  see  and  be  and  do,  when  we  walk  there 
where  the  partridge  drums! 

June  12,  1853.  Going  up  Pine  Hill,  disturbed  a 
partridge  and  her  brood.  She  ran  in  deshabille  directly 
to  me,  within  four  feet,  while  her  young,  not  larger 
than  a  chicken  just  hatched,  dispersed,  flying  along  a 
foot  or  two  from  the  ground,  just  over  the  bushes,  for 
a  rod  or  two.  The  mother  kept  close  at  hand  to  attract 
my  attention,  and  mewed  and  clucked  and  made  a 
noise  as  when  a  hawk  is  in  sight.  She  stepped  about 
and  held  her  head  above  the  bushes  and  clucked  just 
like  a  hen.  What  a  remarkable  instinct  that  which 
keeps  the  young  so  silent  and  prevents  their  peeping 
and  betraying  themselves !  The  wild  bird  will  run 
almost  any  risk  to  save  her  young.  The  young,  I  be- 
lieve, make  a  fine  sound  at  first  in  dispersing,  some- 
thing like  a  cherry-bird. 

Nov.  8,  1853.  The  partridges  go  off  with  a  whir, 
and  then  sail  a  long  way  level  and  low  through  the 


98    NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIKDS 

woods  with  that  impetus  they  have  got,  displaying 
their  neat  forms  perfectly. 

Jan.  31,  1854.  Many  tracks  of  partridges  there 
along  the  meadow-side  in  the  maples,  and  their  drop- 
pings where  they  appear  to  have  spent  the  night  about 
the  roots  and  between  the  stems  of  trees.  I  think  they 
,eat  the  buds  of  the  azalea.  And  now,  with  a  mew,  pre- 
luding a  whir,  they  go  off  before  me.  Coming  up,  I 
follow  her  tracks  to  where  she  eased  herself  for  light- 
ness, and  immediately  after  are  j5ve  or  six  parallel  cuts 
in  the  snow,  where  her  wing  struck  when  she  lifted 
herself  from  the  ground,  but  no  trace  more. 

April  25,  1854.  The  first  partridge  drums  in  one  or 
two  places,  as  if  the  earth's  pulse  now  beat  audibly 
with  the  increased  flow  of  life.  It  slightly  flutters  all 
Nature  and  makes  her  heart  palpitate. 

July  6,  1854.  Disturbed  two  broods  of  partridges 
this  afternoon,  —  one  a  third  grown,  flying  half  a  dozen 
rods  over  the  bushes,  yet  the  old,  as  anxious  as  ever, 
rushing  to  me  with  the  courage  of  a  hen. 

Jan.  25,  1855.  In  the  partridge-tracks  the  side  toes 
are  more  spread  than  in  crows  ;  and  I  believe  the  hind 
one  is  not  so  long.  Both  trail  the  middle  toe. 

Jan.  31,  1855.  As  I  skated  near  the  shore  under 
Lee's  Cliff,  I  saw  what  I  took  to  be  some  scrags  or 
knotty  stubs  of  a  dead  limb  lying  on  the  bank  beneath 
a  white  oak,  close  by  me.  Yet  while  I  looked  directly 
at  them  I  could  not  but  admire  their  close  resemblance 
to  partridges.  I  had  come  along  with  a  rapid  whir 
and  suddenly  halted  right  against  them,  only  two  rods 
distant,  and,  as  my  eyes  watered  a  little  from  skating 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE        99 

against  the  wind,  I  was  not  convinced  that  they  were 
birds  till  I  had  pulled  out  my  glass  and  deliberately 
examined  them.  They  sat  and  stood,  three  of  them,  per- 
fectly still  with  their  heads  erect,  some  darker  feathers 
like  ears,  methinks,  increasing  their  resemblance  to 
scrabs  [szc],  as  where  a  small  limb  is  broken  off.  I  was 
much  surprised  at  the  remarkable  stillness  they  pre- 
served, instinctively  relying  on  the  resemblance  to  the 
ground  for  their  protection,  i.  e.  withered  grass,  dry 
oak  leaves,  dead  scrags,  and  broken  twigs.  I  thought 
at  first  that  it  was  a  dead  oak  limb  with  a  few  stub  ends 
or  scrabbs  [sic]  sticking  up,  and  for  some  time  after  1 
had  noted  the  resemblance  to  birds,  standing  only  two 
rods  off,  I  could  not  be  sure  of  their  character  on  ac- 
count of  their  perfect  motionlessness,  and  it  was  not 
till  I  brought  my  glass  to  bear  on  them  and  saw  their 
eyes  distinctly,  steadily  glaring  on  me,  their  necks 
and  every  muscle  tense  with  anxiety,  that  I  was  con- 
vinced. At  length,  on  some  signal  which  I  did  not 
perceive,  they  went  with  a  whir,  as  if  shot,  off  over  the 
bushes. 

^eb.  12,  1855.  I  see  at  Warren's  Crossing  where, 
last  night  perhaps,  some  partridges  rested  in  this  light, 
dry,  deep  snow.  They  must  have  been  almost  com- 
pletely buried.  They  have  left  their  traces  at  the  bot- 
tom. They  are  such  holes  as  would  be  made  by  crowding 
their  bodies  in  backwards,  slanting-wise,  while  perhaps 
their  heads  were  left  out.  The  dog  scared  them  out  of 
similar  holes  yesterday  in  the  open  orchard. 

J^eb.  13,  1855.  The  tracks  of  partridges  are  more 
remarkable  in  this  snow  than  usual,  it  is  so  light,  being 


100     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

at  the  sa,me  time  a  foot  deep.  I  see  where  one  has  wad- 
dled along  several  rods,  making  a  chain-like  track 
about  three  inches  wide  (or  two  and  a  half),  and  at 
the  end  has  squatted  in  the  snow,  making  a  perfectly 
smooth  and  regular  oval  impression,  like  the  bowl  of  a 
spoon,  five  inches  wide.  Then,  six  inches  beyond  this, 
are  the  marks  of  its  wings  where  it  struck  the  snow  on 
each  side  when  it  took  flight.  It  must  have  risen  at 
once  without  running.  In  one  place  I  see  where  one, 
after  running  a  little  way,  has  left  four  impressions  of 
its  wings  on  the  snow  on  each  side  extending  eighteen 
or  twenty  inches  and  twelve  or  fifteen  in  width.  In  one 
case  almost  the  entire  wing  was  distinctly  impressed, 
eight  primaries  and  five  or  six  secondaries.  In  one 
place,  when  alighting,  the  primary  quills,  five  of  them, 
have  marked  the  snow  for  a  foot.  I  see  where  many 
have  dived  into  the  snow,  apparently  last  night,  on  the 
side  of  a  shrub  oak  hollow.  In  four  places  they  have 
passed  quite  underneath  it  for  more  than  a  foot ;  in 
one  place,  eighteen  inches.  They  appear  to  have  dived 
or  burrowed  into  it,  then  passed  along  a  foot  or  more 
underneath  and  squatted  there,  perhaps,  with  their 
heads  out,  and  have  invariably  left  much  dung  at  the 
end  of  this  hole.  I  scared  one  from  its  hole  only  half  a 
rod  in  front  of  me  now  at  11  A.  M. 

To  resume  the  subject  of  partridges,  looking  further 
in  an  open  placfe  or  glade  amid  the  shrub  oaks  and  low 
pitch  jDines,  I  found  as  many  as  twenty  or  thirty  places 
where  partridges  had  lodged  in  the  snow,  apparently 
the  last  night  or  the  night  before.  You  could  see  com- 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE      101 

monly  where  their  bodies  had  first  struck  the  snow 
and  furrowed  it  for  a  foot  or  two,  and  six  inches  wide, 
then  entered  and  gone  underneath  two  feet  and  rested 
at  the  farther  end,  where  the  manure  is  left.  Is  it  not 
likely  that  they  remain  quite  under  the  snow  there, 
and  do  not  put  their  heads  out  till  ready  to  start?  In 
many  places  they  walked  along  before  they  went  under 
the  snow.  They  do  not  go  under  deep,  and  the  gallery 
they  make  is  mostly  filled  up  behind  them,  leaving  only 
a  thin  crust  above.  Then  invariably,  just  beyond  this 
resting-place,  you  could  see  the  marks  made  by  their 
wings  when  they  took  their  departure  : 


*V        '^  Jill 


Ci*n^  «-^ 


l"l'U 


II 


''Hir  >!' 


These  distinct  impressions  made  by  their  wings,  in  the 
pure  snow,  so  common  on  all  hands,  though  the  bird 
that  made  it  is  gone  and  there  is  no  trace  beyond, 
affect  me  like  some  mystic  Oriental  symbol,  —  the 
winged  globe  or  what-not,  —  as  if  made  by  a  spirit.  In 
some  places  you  would  see  a  furrow  and  hollow  in  the 
snow  where  there  was  no  track  for  rods  around,  as  if  a 
large  snowball  or  a  cannon-ball  had  struck  it,  where  ap- 
parently the  birds  had  not  paused  in  their  flight.  It  is 
evidently  a  regular  thing  with  them  thus  to  lodge  in  tlie 
snow.  Their  tracks,  when  perfectly  distinct,  are  seen  to 


102     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

be  almost  in  one  straight  line  thus,  trailing  the  middle  toe : 
V_  about  five  inches 

*~  ^"  T— — ^v"  =(  ^  apart.  In  one 
place  I  saw  where  one  had  evidently  trailed  the  tips  of 
the  wings,  making  two  distinct  lines  five  or  six  inches 
apart,  one  on  each  side  the  foot-tracks ;  probably  made 
by  a  male. 

Feb.  16,  1855.  I  find  in  the  leavings  of  the  par- 
tridges numerous  ends  of  twigs.  They  are  white  with 
them,  some  half  an  inch  long  and  stout  in  proportion. 
Perhaps  they  are  apple  twigs.  The  bark  (and  bud,  if 
there  was  any)  has  been  entirely  digested,  leaving  the 
bare,  white,  hard  wood  of  the  twig.  Some  of  the  ends 
of  apple  twigs  looked  as  if  they  had  been  bitten  off. 
It  is  surprising  what  a  quantity  of  this  wood  they  swal- 
low with  their  buds.  What  a  hardy  bird,  born  amid 
the  dry  leaves,  of  the  same  color  with  them,  that, 
grown  up,  lodges  in  the  snow  and  lives  on  buds  and 
twigs !  Where  apple  buds  are  just  freshly  bitten  off 
they  do  not  seem  to  have  taken  so  much  twig  with 
them. 

JFeh.  22,  1855.  He  *  had  seen  a  partridge  drum 
standing  on  a  wall.  Said  it  stood  very  upright  and 
produced  the  sound  by  striking  its  wings  together  be- 
hind its  back,  as  a  cock  often  does,  but  did  not  strike 
the  wall  nor  its  body.  This  he  is  sure  of,  and  declares 
that  he  is  mistaken  who  affirms  the  contrary,  though  it 
were  Audubon  himself.  Wilson  says  he  "  begins  to 
strike  with  his  stiffened  wings  "  while  standing  on  a 
log,  but  does  not  say  what  he  strikes,  though  one  would 
1  [Mr.  Jacob  Farmer.] 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE      103 

infer  it  was  either  the  log  or  his  body.  Peabody  says 
he  beats  his  body  with  his  wings.* 

Dec.  14,  1855.  Suddenly  I  heard  the  screwing  mew 
and  then  the  whir  of  a  partridge  on  or  beneath  an  old 
decaying  apple  tree  which  the  pines  had  surrounded. 
There  were  several  such,  and  another  partridge  burst 
away  from  one.  They  shoot  off  swift  and  steady,  show- 
ing their  dark-edged  tails,  almost  like  a  cannon-ball. 
I  saw  one's  track  under  an  apple  tree  and  where  it  had 
pecked  a  frozen-thawed  apple. 

Feb.  4,  1856.  I  see  that  the  partridges  feed  quite 
extensively  on  the  sumach  berries,  e.  g.  at  my  old  house.^ 
They  come  to  them  after  every  snow,  making  fresh 
tracks,  and  have  now  stripped  many  bushes  quite  bare. 

Feb.  8,  1856.  E.  Garfield  says  that  he  saw  the  other 
day  where  a  fox  had  caught  in  the  snow  three  par- 
tridges and  eaten  two.  He  himself  last  winter  caught 
two,  on  the  hillside  south  of  Fair  Haven,  with  his  hands. 
They  fleW  before  him  and  dived  into  the  snow,  which 
was  about  a  foot  deep,  going  twice  their  length  into  it. 
He  thrust  his  hand  in  and  caught  them.  Puffer  said 
that  his  companion  one  night  speared  a  partridge  on 
the  alders  on  the  south  side  the  pond. 

Feb.  11,  1856.  Saw  a  partridge  by  the  riverside, 

^  [It  is  now  known  that  the  ruffed  grouse  in  drumming  simply  beats 
the  air  with  his  wings,  which  do  not  strike  his  body  or  the  log  or  each 
other.  In  Bird-Lore  for  Nov.-Dec,  1908  (vol.  x,  pp.  246-249)  Mr.  E.  J. 
Sawyer  describes  the  drumming  and  shows  a  photograph  of  a  bird  taken 
in  the  act.  The  same  magazine  for  March-April,  1909  (vol.  xi,  p.  77), 
shows  a  photograph  by  Dr.  C.  F.  Hodge  of  one  of  his  tame  grouse  in 
the  act  of  drumming.] 

2  [His  hut  at  Walden  Pond.] 


104     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

opposite  Fair  Haven  Hill,  which  at  first  I  mistook  for 
the  top  of  a  fence-post  above  the  snow,  amid  some  al- 
ders. I  shouted  and  waved  my  hand  four  rods  off,  to 
see  if  it  was  one,  but  there  was  no  motion,  and  I  thought 
surely  it  must  be  a  post.  Nevertheless  I  resolved  to  in- 
vestigate. Within  three  rods,  I  saw  it  to  be  indeed  a 
partridge,  to  my  surprise,  standing  perfectly  still,  with 
its  head  erect  and  neck  stretched  upward.  It  was  as 
complete  a  deception  as  if  it  had  designedly  placed 
itself  on  the  line  of  the  fence  and  in  the  proper  place 
for  a  post.  It  finally  stepped  off  daintily  with  a  teeter- 
ing gait  and  head  up.  and  took  to  wing. 

May  24,  1856.  [Humphrey  Buttrick]*  has  known  a 
partridge  to  fly  at  once  from  one  to  two  miles  after 
being  wounded  (tracked  them  by  the  blood)  without 
alighting.  Says  he  has  caught  as  many  as  a  dozen  par- 
tridges in  his  hands.  He  lies  right  down  on  them,  or 
where  he  knows  them  to  be,  then  passes  his  hands  back 
and  forth  under  his  body  till  he  feels  them.  You  must 
not  lift  your  body  at  all  or  they  will  surely  squeeze 
out,  and  when  you  feel  one  must  be  sure  you  get  hold 
of  their  legs  or  head,  and  not  feathers  merely. - 

June  11,  1856.  A  partridge  with  young  in  the  Saw 
Mill  Brook  path.  Could  hardly  tell  what  kind  of  crea- 
ture it  was  at  first,  it  made  such  a  noise  and  fluttering 
amid  the  weeds  and  bushes.  Finally  ran  off  with  its 
body  flat  and  wings  somewhat  spread. 

March  8,  1857.  A  partridge  goes  off  from  amid  the 
pitch  pines.  It  lifts  each  wiug  so  high  above  its  back 

^  [A  Concord  man.] 

^  [These  most  have  been  young  partridges,  of  course.] 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE      105 

and  flaps  so  low,  and  withal  so  rapidly,  that  they  present 
the  appearance  of  a  broad  wheel,  almost  a  revolving 
sphere,  as  it  whirs  off  like  a  cannon-ball  shot  from  a  gun. 

April  29,  1857.  Sweet-fern  at  entrance  of  Ministe- 
rial Swamp.  A  partridge  there  drums  incessantly.  C. 
says  it  makes  his  heart  beat  with  it,  or  he  feels  it  in 
his  breast. 

July  25,  1857.  As  we  were  returning  over  the  track  * 
where  I  had  passed  but  a  few  moments  before,  we  started 
a  partridge  with  her  young  partly  from  beneath  the 
wooden  rails.  While  the  young  hastened  away,  she  sat 
within  seven  feet  of  us  and  plumed  herself,  perfectly 
fearless,  without  making  a  noise  or  ruffling  her  feathers 
as  they  do  in  our  neighborhood,  and  I  thought  it  would 
be  a  good  opportunity  to  observe  whether  she  flew  as 
quietly  as  other  birds  when  not  alarmed.  We  observed 
her  till  we  were  tired,  and  when  we  compelled  her  to 
get  out  of  our  way,  though  she  took  to  wing  as  easily 
as  if  we  had  not  been  there  and  went  only  two  or  three 
rods,  into  a  tree,  she  flew  with  a  considerable  whir,  as  if 
this  were  unavoidable  in  a  rapid  motion  of  the  wings. 

Oct.  20,  1857.  Melvin  says  he  has  caught  partridges 
in  his  hands.  If  there  's  only  one  hole,  knows  they  've 
not  gone  out.  Sometimes  shoots  them  through  the  snow. 

jVov.  20,  1857.  I  see  a  partridge  on  the  ground  under 
a  white  oak  by  Tarbell's  black  birches,  looking  just  like 
a  snag.  This  is  the  second  time  I  have  seen  them  in 
such  a  place.  Are  they  not  after  acorns  ? 

JVov.  28,  1857.  P.  M.  — Around  Ebby  Hubbard's 
wood-lot. 

^  [On  the  Northeast  Carry,  Moosehead  Lake,  Maine.] 


106     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

On  the  hillside  above  his  s-wamp,  near  the  Ministe- 
rial land,  I  found  myself  walking  in  one  of  those  shelf- 
like hillside  paths  made  by  Indians,  hunters,  cows,  or 
what-not,  and  it  was  beset  with  fresh  snares  for  par- 
tridges. .  .  .  Upright  twigs  are  stuck  in  the  ground 
across  the  path,  a  foot  or  more  in  height  and  just  close 
enough  together  to  turn  a  partridge  aside,  leaving  a 
space  about  four  inches  wide  in  the  middle,  and  some 
twigs  are  stretched  across  above  to  prevent  the  birds 
hopping  over.  Then  a  sapling  about  an  inch  in  diame- 
ter or  less  is  bent  over,  and  the  end  caught  under  one 
of  the  twigs  which  has  a  notch  or  projection  on  one 
side,  and  a  free-running  noose,  attached  to  the  sapling, 
hangs  in  the  opening  and  is  kept  spread  by  being  hung 
on  some  very  slight  nicks  in  the  two  twigs.  This  seems 
to  suppose  the  bird  to  be  going  one  way  only,  but  per- 
haps if  it  cannot  escape  one  way  it  will  turn  and  try  to 
go  back,  and  so  spring  the  trap. 

I  saw  one  that  was  sprung  with  nothing  in  it,  another 
whose  slip-noose  was  blown  or  fallen  one  side,  and  an- 
other with  a  partridge  still  warm  in  it.  It  was  a  male 
bird  hanging  dead  by  the  neck,  just  touching  its  toes 
to  the  ground.  It  had  a  collar  or  ruff  about  its  neck, 
of  large  and  conspicuous  black  feathers  with  a  green 
reflection.  This  black  is  peculiar  to  the  male,  the  fe- 
male's being  brown.  Its  feet,  now  clinched  in  its  agony, 
were  the  strangest-looking  pale  blue,  with  a  fine  fringe, 
of  scales  or  the  like,  on  each  side  of  each  toe.  The 
small  black  feathers  were  centred  with  gray  spots.  The 
scapulars  were  darker  brown,  dashed  with  large  clear 
pale-brown  spots ;  the  breast-feathers  light  with  light- 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE      107 

brown  marks.  The  tail-feathers  had  each  a  broad  black 
bar,  except  the  middle  one,  which  was  more  mixed  or 
grayish  there.  The  bands  of  the  females  are  said  to  be 
more  brown,  as  is  their  collar.  There  were  a  few  drop- 
pings of  the  bird  close  by  the  snare  in  two  instances. 
Were  they  dropped  after  it  was  caught  ?  Or  did  they 
determine  the  locality  of  the  snare? 

These  birds  appear  to  run  most  along  the  sides  of 
wooded  banks  around  swamps.  At  least  these  paths 
and  snares  occur  there  oftenest.  I  often  scare  them  up 
from  amid  or  near  hemlocks  in  the  woods. 

The  general  color  of  the  bird  is  that  of  the  ground 
and  dry  leaves  on  it  at  present.  The  bird  hanging  in 
the  snare  was  very  inconspicuous.  I  had  gone  close  by 
it  once  without  noticing  it.  Its  wings  are  short  and 
stout  and  look  as  if  they  were  a  little  worn  by  striking 
the  ground  or  bushes,  or  perhaps  in  drumming.  I  ob- 
served a  bare  bright-red  or  scarlet  spot  over  each  eye. 

Ajyi'il  12,  1858.  Returning  on  the  railroad,  the  noon 
train  down  passed  us  opposite  the  old  maid  Hosmer's 
house.  In  the  woods  just  this  side,  we  came  upon  a 
partridge  standing  on  the  track,  between  the  rails  over 
which  the  cars  had  just  passed.  She  had  evidently  been 
run  down,  but,  though  a  few  small  feathers  were  scat- 
tered along  for  a  dozen  rods  beyond  her,  and  she  looked 
a  little  ruffled,  she  was  apparently  more  disturbed  in 
mind  than  body.  I  took  her  up  and  carried  her  one 
side  to  a  safer  place.  At  first  she  made  no  resistance, 
but  at  length  fluttered  out  of  my  hands  and  ran  two  or 
three  feet.  I  had  to  take  her  up  again  and  carry  and 
drive  her  further  off,  and  left  her  standing  with  head 


108     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

erect  as  at  first,  as  if  beside  herself.  She  was  not  lame, 
and  I  suspect  no  wing  was  broken.  I  did  not  suspect 
that  this  swift  wild  bird  was  ever  run  down  by  the  cars. 
We  have  an  account  in  the  newspapers  of  every  cow 
and  calf  that  is  run  over,  but  not  of  the  various  wild 
creatures  who  meet  with  that  accident.  It  may  be  many 
generations  before  the  partridges  learn  to  give  the  cars 
a  sufficiently  wide  berth. 

April  22,  1859.  Scare  up  partridges  feeding  about 
the  green  springy  places  under  the  edge  of  hills.  See 
them  skim  or  scale  away  for  forty  rods  along  and  up- 
ward to  the  woods,  into  which  they  swiftly  scale,  dodg- 
ing to  right  and  left  and  avoiding  the  twigs,  yet  with- 
out once  flapping  the  wings  after  having  launched 
themselves. 

Dec.  24,  1859.  I  saw  the  tracks  of  a  partridge  more 
than  half  an  inch  deep  in  the  ice,  extending  from  this 
island  '  to  the  shore,  she  having  walked  there  in  the 
slosh.  They  were  quitfe  perfect  and  reminded  me  of 
bird-tracks  in  stone.  She  may  have  gone  there  to  bud 
on  these  blueberry  trees.  I  saw  where  she  spent  the 
night  at  the  bottom  of  that  largest  clump,  in  the  snow. 

This  blueberry  grove  must  be  well  known  to  the 
partridges ;  no  doubt  they  distinguish  their  tops  from 
afar. 

t/an.  22,  1860.  I  scare  a  partridge  that  was  eating 
the  buds  and  ends  of  twigs  of  the  Vaccinium  vacillans 
on  a  hillside. 

April  19, 1860.  Toward  night,  hear  a  partridge  drum. 

^  [An  islaud  in  Flint's  Pond  whereon  were  some  remarkably  larg^e 
blueberry  bashes  which  Thoreau  has  been  describing.] 


1 


RUFFED   GROUSE;   PARTRIDGE      109 

You  will  hear  at  first  a  single  beat  or  two  far  apart  and 
have  time  to  say,  "There  is  a  partridge,"  so  distinct 
and  deliberate  is  it  often,  before  it  becomes  a  rapid  roll. 

June  14,  1860.  A  brood  of  little  partridges  in  the 
woodpaths.  The  old  bird  utters  a  loud  wiry,  mewing 
sound  of  alarm,  the  young  a  very  fine  sharp  sound  like 
cherry-birds. 

June  27, 1860.    2  P.  M.  —Up  Assabet  to  Farmer's. 

See  on  the  open  grassy  bank  and  shore,  just  this  side 
the  Hemlocks,  a  partridge  with  her  little  brood.  Being 
in  ray  boat,  I  went  within  three  rods,  and  they  were 
hardly  scared  at  all.  The  young  were  but  little  bigger 
than  chickens  four  or  five  days  old,  yet  could  fly  two  or 
three  rods.  The  partridge  now  takes  out  her  brood  to 
feed,  all  the  country  over ;  and  what  an  extensive  range 
they  have  !  —  not  confined  to  a  barnyard. 

\_See  also  under  Tree  Sparrow,  p.  297  ;  General  and 
Miscellaneous,  pp.  405,  413,  414,  418,  431,  432.] 


VII 

PIGEONS 

PASSENGER  PIGEON  ;   WILD   PIGEON  * 

Aug.  1845.  I  sit  here  at  my  window  like  a  priest  of 
Isis,  and  observe  the  phenomena  of  three  thousand  years 
ago,  yet  unimpaired.  The  tantivy  of  wild  pigeons,  an 
ancient  race  of  birds,  gives  a  voice  to  the  air,  flying  by 
twos  and  threes  athwart  my  view  or  perching  restless 
on  the  white  pine  boughs  occasionally ;  a  fish  hawk  dim- 
ples the  glassy  surface  of  the  pond  and  brings  up  a  fish  ; 
and  for  the  last  half-hour  I  have  heard  the  rattle  of 
railroad  cars  conveying  travellers  from  Boston  to  the 
country. 

1850.^  The  fire  reached  the  base  of  the  cliff  and  then 
rushed  up  its  sides.  The  squirrels  ran  before  it  in  blind 
haste,  and  three  pigeons  dashed  into  the  midst  of  the 
smoke. 

July  21,  1851.  Some  pigeons  here  are  resting  in  the 
thickest  of  the  white  pines  during  the  heat  of  the  day, 
migrating,  no  doubt.  They  are  unwilling  to  move  for 
me.  Flies  buzz  and  rain  about  my  hat,  and  the  dead 
twigs  and  leaves  of  the  white  pine,  which  the  choppers 
have  left  here,  exhale  a  dry  and  almost  sickening  scent. 

^  [On  account  of  the  interest  attaching  to  this  bird,  once  so  abundant 
and  now  nearly  or  quite  extinct,  practically  every  reference  to  it  in 
Thoreau's  Journal,  however  seemingly  trivial,  is  here  reproduced.] 

^  [Though  this  was  written  in  1850,  the  fire  referred  to  had  hap- 
pened some  years  earlier.] 


WILD  PIGEON  111 

A  cuckoo  chuckles,  half  throttled,  on  a  neighboring 
tree,  and  now,  flying  into  the  pine,  scares  out  a  pigeon, 
which  flies  with  its  handsome  tail  spread,  dashes  this 
side  and  that  between  the  trees  helplessly,  like  a  ship 
carrying  too  much  sail  in  midst  of  a  small  creek,  some 
great  ammiral  having  no  room  to  manoeuvre,  —  a  flut- 
tering flight. 

Sept.  12,  1851.  Saw  a  pigeon-place  on  George  Hey- 
wood's  cleared  lot,  —  the  six  dead  trees  set  up  for  the 
pigeons  to  alight  on,  and  the  brush  house  close  by  to 
conceal  the  man.  I  was  rather  startled  to  find  such  a 
thing  going  now  in  Concord.  The  pigeons  on  the  trees 
looked  like  fabulous  birds  with  their  long  tails  and  their 
pointed  breasts.  I  could  hardly  believe  they  were  alive 
and  not  some  wooden  birds  used  for  decoys,  they  sat  so 
still ;  and,  even  when  they  moved  their  necks,  I  thought 
it  was  the  effect  of  art.  As  they  were  not  catching  then, 
I  approached  and  scared  away  a  dozen  birds  who  were 
perched  on  the  trees,  and  found  that  they  were  freshly 
baited  there,  though  the  net  was  carried  away,  per- 
chance to  some  other  bed.  The  smooth  sandy  bed  was 
covered  with  buckwheat,  wheat  or  rye,  and  acorns. 
Sometimes  they  use  corn,  shaved  off  the  ear  in  its  pre- 
sent state  with  a  knife.  There  were  left  the  sticks  with 
which  they  fastened  the  nets.  As  I  stood  there,  I  heard 
a  rushing  sound  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  flock  of  thirty 
or  forty  pigeons  dashing  toward  the  trees,  who  suddenly 
whirled  on  seeing  me  and  circled  round  and  made  a  new 
dash  toward  the  bed,  as  if  they  would  fain  alight  if  I 
had  not  been  there,  then  steered  off.  I  crawled  into  the 
bough  house  and  lay  awhile  looking  through  the  leaves, 


k 


112     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

hoping  to  see  them  come  again  and  feed,  but  they  did 
not  while  I  stayed.  This  net  and  bed  belong  to  one 
Harrington  of  Weston,  as  I  hear.  Several  men  still  take 
pigeons  in  Concord  every  year  ;  by  a  method,  methinks, 
extremely  old  and  which  I  seem  to  have  seen  pictured 
in  some  old  book  of  fables  or  symbols,  and  yet  few  in 
Concord  know  exactly  how  it  is  done.  And  yet  it  is 
all  done  for  money  and  because  the  birds  fetch  a  good 
price,  just  as  the  farmers  raise  corn  and  potatoes.  I  am 
always  expecting  that  those  engaged  in  such  a  pursuit 
will  be  somewhat  less  grovelling  and  mercenary  than 
the  regular  trader  or  farmer,  but  I  fear  that  it  is 
not  so. 

May  9,  1852.  Saw  pigeons  in  the  woods,  with  their 
inquisitive  necks  and  long  tails,  but  few  representatives 
of  the  great  flocks  that  once  broke  down  our  forests. 

Sept.  2,  1852.  Small  flocks  of  pigeons  are  seen  these 
days.  Distinguished  from  doves  by  their  sharper  wings 
and  bodies. 

March  29,  1853.  He  ^  saw  two  pigeons  to-day. 
Prated  \j,ic\  for  them ;  they  came  near  and  then  flew 
away. 

March  30,  1853.  A  range-pole  on  the  side  of  Mt. 
Tabor,^  twenty-odd  feet  long  and  ten  or  twelve  from  the 
ground,  slanted  upward  on  three  forked  posts  like  a 
rafter,  a  bower  ^  being  opposite  the  lower  end  two  rods 
off,  and  this  end  of  the  pole  full  of  shot. 

Aug.  9, 1853.  Saw  pigeons  the  other  day  (August  5). 

Sept.  2,  1853.  Hear  the  sharp  quivet  of  pigeons  at 

1  [Dupan,  of  Concord.] 

2  [A  hill  near  Beaver  Pond  in  Lincoln.]  ^  [A  pigeon-stand.] 


WILD   PIGEON  113 

the  Thrush  Alley  clearing.  Mistook  it  for  a  jay  at  first, 
but  saw  the  narrow,  swift-flying  bird  soon. 

Dec.  15,  1853.  He  ^  had  ten  live  pigeons  in  a  cage 
under  his  barn.  He  used  them  to  attract  others  in  the 
spring.  The  reflections  from  their  necks  were  very 
beautiful.  They  made  me  think  of  shells  cast  up  on  a 
beach.  He  placed  them  in  a  cage  on  the  bed  and  could 
hear  them  prate  at  the  house.  .  .  .  The  turtle  doves  ^ 
plagued  him,  for  they  were  restless  and  frightened  the 
pigeons. 

March  19,  1854.  Goodwin  killed  a  pigeon  yesterday. 

July  18,  1854.  Brooks  has  let  out  some  of  his 
pigeons,  which  stay  about  the  stands  or  perches  to  bait 
others.  Wild  ones  nest  in  his  woods  quite  often.  He 
begins  to  catch  them  the  middle  of  August. 

Aug.  15,  1854.  Crossed  from  top  of  Annursnack  to 
top  of  Strawberry  Hill  ^  past  a  pigeon-bed. 

In  the  meanwhile  we  came  upon  another  pigeon-bed, 
where  the  pigeons  were  being  baited,  a  little  corn,  etc., 
being  spread  on  the  ground,  and,  [as  ?]  at  the  first,  the 
bower  was  already  erected. 

Sept.  5, 1854.  Saw  two  pigeons,  which  flew  about  his 
pond  and  then  lit  on  the  elms  over  his  house.  He  ^  said 
they  had  come  to  drink  from  Brooks's,  as  they  often  did. 

Sept.  12, 1854.  I  scare  pigeons  from  Hubbard's  oaks 
beyond.  How  like  the  creakingof  trees  the  slight  sounds 

^  [Mr.  George  Brooks  of  Concord.] 

^  [Mourning-  doves.]  '  [In  Acton.] 

*  [Samuel  Barrett,  who  had  a  sawmill  and  a  gristmill  on  Spencer 
Brook,  a  tributary  of  the  Assabet.] 


114     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

they  make!  Thus  they  are  concealed.  Not  only  their 
prating  or  quivet  is  like  a  sharp  creak,  but  I  heard  a 
sound  from  them  like  a  dull  grating  or  cracking  of 
bough  on  bough. 

On  a  white  oak  beyond  Everett's  orchard  by  the  road, 
I  see  quite  a  flock  of  pigeons;  their  blue-black  droppings 
and  their  feathers  spot  the  road.  The  bare  limbs  of  the 
oak  apparently  attracted  them,  though  its  acorns  are 
thick  on  the  ground.  These  are  found  whole  in  their 
crops.  They  swallow  them  whole.  I  should  think  from 
the  droppings  that  they  had  been  eating  berries.  I  hear 
that  Wetherbee  caught  ninety-two  dozen  last  week. 

April  16,  1855.  In  the  meanwhile  heard  the  quivet 
through  the  wood,  and,  looking,  saw  through  an  opening 
a  small  compact  flock  of  pigeons  flying  low  about. 

April  26,  1855.  Going  over  Ponkawtasset,  hear  a 
golden-crested  (?)  wren,^ — the  robin's  note,  etc.,  —  in 
the  tops  of  the  high  wood ;  see  myrtle-birds  and  half  a 
dozen  pigeons.  The  prate  of  the  last  is  much  like  the 
creaking  of  a  tree.  They  lift  their  wings  at  the  same 
moment  as  they  sit.  There  are  said  to  be  many  about 
now.  See  their  warm-colored  breasts. 

Aj)ril  27,  1855.  Heard  a  singular  sort  of  screech, 
somewhat  like  a  hawk,  under  the  Cliff,  and  soon  some 
pigeons  flew  out  of  a  pine  near  me. 

May  26, 1855.  Saw  a  beautiful  blue-backed  and  long- 
tailed  pigeon  sitting  daintily  on  a  low  white  pine  limb. 

Sept.  2, 1856.  A  few  pigeons  were  seen  a  fortnight 

^  [He  afterwards  learned  that  this  hird  with  the  robin-like  notes  in 
its  song  was  the  rubj'-crowned  wren,  or  kinglet,  not  the  golden-crowned.] 


WILD   PIGEON  115 

ago.  I  have  noticed  none  in  all  walks,  but  G.  Minott, 
whose  mind  runs  on  them  so  much,  but  whose  age  and 
infirmities  confine  him  to  his  wood-shed  on  the  hillside, 
saw  a  small  flock  a  fortnight  ago.  I  rarely  pass  at  any 
season  of  the  year  but  he  asks  if  I  have  seen  any 
pigeons.  One  man's  mind  running  on  pigeons,  he  will 
sit  thus  in  the  midst  of  a  village,  many  of  whose  inhabit- 
ants never  see  nor  dream  of  a  pigeon  except  in  the  pot, 
and  where  even  naturalists  do  not  observe  them,  and  he, 
looking  out  with  expectation  and  faith  from  morning 
till  night,  will  surely  see  them. 

Sej^t.  16, 1856.  See  a  flock  of  pigeons  dash  by.  From 
a  stout  breast  they  taper  straightly  and  slenderly  to  the 
tail.  They  have  been  catching  them  a  while. 

May  14,  1857.  Abel  Hosmer  *  tells  me  that  he  has 
collected  and  sown  white  pine  seed,  and  that  he  has 
found  them  in  the  crop  of  pigeons.  (?) 

Se^it.  30, 1857.  Minott  said  he  had  seen  a  couple  of 
pigeons  go  over  at  last,  as  he  sat  in  his  shed.  At  first  he 
thought  they  were  doves,  but  he  soon  saw  that  they  were 
pigeons,  they  flew  so  straight  and  fast. 

Sept.  9, 1858.  R.^  says  that  he  has  caught  pigeons  which 
had  ripe  grapes  in  their  crops  long  before  any  were  ripe 
here,  and  that  they  came  from  the  southwest. 

Sejjt.  13,  1858.  A  small  dense  flock  of  wild  pigeons 
dashes  by  over  the  side  of  the  hill,  from  west  to  east,  — 
perhaps  from  Wetherbee's  to  Brooks's,  for  I  see  the 
latter's  pigeon-place.  They  make  a  dark  slate-gray  im- 
pression. 

Sept.  23,  1858.  Met  a  gunner  from  Lynn  on  the 
^   [A  Concord  farmer.]  ^  [Israel  Rice,  the  Sudbury  farmer.] 


116     NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

beach, ^  who  had  several  pigeons  which  he  had  killed  in 
the  woods  by  the  shore.  Said  that  they  had  been  blown 
off  the  mainland. 

May  7, 1859.  I  frequently  see  pigeons  dashing  about 
in  small  flocks,  or  three  or  four  at  a  time,  over  the  woods 
here.^  Theirs  is  a  peculiarly  swift,  dashing  flight. 

Sejit.  9,  1859.  I  start  many  pigeons  now  in  a  sprout- 
land. 

Sept.  13,  1859.  It  is  a  wonder  how  pigeons  can  swal- 
low acorns  whole,  but  they  do. 

Sept.  14, 1859.  They  are  catching  pigeons  nowadays. 
Coombs  has  a  stand  west  of  Nut  Meadow,  and  he  says 
that  he  has  just  shot  fourteen  hawks  there,  which  were 
after  the  pigeons. 

Sept.  15,  1859.  P.  M.  —  To  Annursnack. 

Dense  flocks  of  pigeons  hurry-skurry  over  the  hill. 
Pass  near  Brooks's  pigeon-stands.  There  was  a  flock 
perched  on  his  poles,  and  they  sat  so  still  and  in  such 
regular  order  there,  being  also  the  color  of  the  wood, 
that  I  thought  they  were  wooden  figures  at  first.  They 
were  perched  not  only  in  horizontal  straight  lines  one 
above  the  other,  which  the  cross-bars  required,  but  at 
equal  distances  apart  on  these  perches,  which  must  be 
their  own  habit ;  and  it  struck  me  that  they  made  just 
such  a  figure  seen  against  the  sky  as  pigeonholes  cut  in 
a  doves'  house  do,  i.  e.  a  more  or  less  triangular  figure, 
and  possibly  the  seeing  them  thus  perched  might  have 
originally  suggested  this  arrangement  of  the  holes. 

Pigeons  dart  by  on  every  side,  —  a  dry  slate  color, 

^  [On  the  south  shore  of  Rockport,  Mass.] 
[In  Acton,  adjoining  Concord  on  the  west.] 


WILD   PIGEON  117 

like  weather-stained  wood  (the  weather-stained  birds), 
fit  color  for  this  aerial  traveller,  a  more  subdued  and 
earthy  blue  than  the  sky,  as  its  field  (or  path)  is  be- 
tween the  sky  and  the  earth,  —  not  black  or  brown,  as 
is  the  earth,  but  a  terrene  or  slaty  blue,  suggesting  their 
aerial  resorts  and  habits. 

Sept.  21, 1859.  I  sat  near  Coombs's  pigeon-place  by 
White  Pond.  The  pigeons  sat  motionless  on  his  bare 
perches,  from  time  to  time  dropping  down  into  the  bed 
and  uttering  a  quivet  or  two.  Some  stood  on  the  perch  ; 
others  squatted  flat.  I  could  see  their  dove-colored 
breasts.  Then  all  at  once,  being  alarmed,  would  take 
flight,  but  ere  long  return  in  straggling  parties.  He 
tells  me  that  he  has  fifteen  dozen  baited,  but  does  not 
intend  to  catch  any  more  at  present,  or  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  hoping  to  attract  others.  Rice  says  that  white  oak 
acorns  pounded  up,  shells  and  all,  make  the  best  bait  for 
them. 

Sept.  28, 1859.  The  white  pine  seed  is  very  abundant 
this  year,  and  this  must  attract  more  pigeons.  Coombs 
tells  me  that  he  finds  the  seed  in  their  crops.  Also  that 
he  found  within  a  day  or  two  a  full-formed  egg  with 
shell  in  one. 

JVov.  8,  1859.  Coombs  says  that  quite  a  little  flock  of 
pigeons  bred  here  last  summer.  He  found  one  nest  in  a 
small  white  pine  near  his  pigeon-stand  (where  he  baited 
them  in  the  summer),  so  low  he  could  put  his  hand  in 
it(!?). 

Jan.  23,  1860.  Minott  says  that  pigeons  alight  in 
great  flocks  on  the  tops  of  hemlocks  in  March,  and  he 
thinks  they  eat  the  seed.   (But  he  also  thought  for  the 


118     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

same  reason  that  they  ate  the  white  pine  seed  at  the 
same  season,  when  it  is  not  there !  They  might  find  a 
little  of  the  last  adhering  to  the  pitch.) 

June  14,  1860.  See  a  pigeon.^ 

Se'pt.  4,  1860.  Saw  flocks  of  pigeons  the  2d  and  3d. 

MOURNING  DOVE  ;  TURTLE   DOVE 

July  12,  1852.  The  turtle  dove  flutters  before  you 
in  shady  wood-paths,  or  looks  out  with  extended  neck, 
losing  its  balance,  slow  to  leave  its  perch. 

Sept.  27,  1852.  It  must  have  been  a  turtle  dove  that 
eyed  me  so  near,  turned  its  head  sideways  to  me  for  a 
fair  view,  looking  with  a  St.  Vitus  twitching  of  its  neck, 
as  if  to  recover  its  balance  on  an  unstable  perch,  —  that 
is  their  way. 

May  27,  1858.  Ed.  Emerson  ^  shows  me  an  e^^  of  a 
bittern  (^Ardea  minor^  from  a  nest  in  the  midst  of  the 
Great  Meadows,  which  four  boys  found,  scaring  up  the 
bird,  last  Monday,  the  24th.  It  was  about  a  foot  wide 
on  the  top  of  a  tussock,  where  the  water  around  was 
about  one  foot  deep.  I  will  measure  the  egg.^  They  were 
a  little  developed.  Also  an  egg  of  a  turtle  dove,  one  of 
two  in  a  nest  in  a  pitch  pine,  about  six  feet  from  the 
ground,  in  Sleepy  Hollow  Cemetery,  by  the  side  of  a 
frequented  walk,  on  a  fork  on  a  nearly  horizontal  limb. 
The  egg  is  milk-white,  elliptical,  one  and  three  six- 
teenths inches  long  by  seven  eighths  wide. 

^'  [In  the  western  part  of  Concord.] 

2  [Edward  Waldo  Emerson,  son  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  then  a 
boy  of  thirteen.] 

*  It  is  clay-colored,  one  and  seven  eighths  inches  long  by  one  and 
nine  sixteenths,  about  the  same  size  at  each  end. 


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A    MOURNING   DOVK    AND    HKl!   Ni:>r 


MOURNING   DOVE  119 

May  28,  1858.  I  get  the  nest  of  the  turtle  dove  above 
named,  it  being  deserted  and  no  egg  left.  It  appears  to 
have  been  built  on  the  foundation  of  an  old  robin's  nest 
and  consists  of  a  loose  wisp  of  straw  and  pinweed,  the 
seedy  ends  projecting,  ten  inches  long,  laid  across  the 
mud  foundation  of  the  robin's  nest,  with  a  very  sliglit 
depression.  Very  loose  and  coarse  material  is  artificially 
disposed,  without  any  lining  or  architecture.  It  was  close 
to  a  frequented  path  of  the  cemetery  and  within  reach 
of  the  hand. 

Dec.  30, 1860.  Eben  Conant's  sons  tell  me  that  there 
has  been  a  turtle  dove  associating  with  their  tame  doves 
and  feeding  in  the  yard  from  time  to  time  for  a  fort- 
night past.   They  saw  it  to-day. 

[/See  also  under  Passenger  Pigeon,  p.  113.] 


VIII 
HAWKS  AND  EAGLES 

MARSH   HAWK  ;    FROG    HAWK  ;    HEN-HARRIER 

April  24,  1852.  The  sparrows,  frogs,  rabbits,  etc., 
are  made  to  resemble  the  ground  for  their  protection ; 
but  so  is  the  hawk  that  preys  on  them ;  but  he  is  of  a 
lighter  color  beneath,  that  creeping  things  over  which 
he  hovers  may  confound  him  with  the  sky.  The  marsh 
hawk  is  not  easily  distinguished  from  the  meadow  or 
the  stems  of  the  maples. 

July  29,  1853.  I  see  three  or  four  (apparently) 
young  marsh  hawks,  but  full  grown,  circling  and  tum- 
bling about  not  much  above  the  ground  and  playing  with 
one  another.  They  are  quite  a  reddish  brown.  They  ut- 
ter a  squeak  (not  a  shrill  scream),  much  like  a  small 
bird  or  animal. 

April  23,  1855.  See  a  frog  hawk  beating  the  bushes 
regularly.  What  a  peculiarly  formed  wing!  It  should 
be  called  the  kite.  Its  wings  are  very  narrow  and 
pointed,  and  its  form  in  front  is  a  remarkable  curve, 
and  its  body  is  not  heavy  and  buzzard-like.  It  occasion- 
ally hovers  over  some  parts  of  the  meadow  or  hedge  and 
circles  back  over  it,  only  rising  enough  from  time  to 
time  to  clear  the  trees  and  fences. 

May  14,  1855.  See  a  male  hen-harrier  skimming  low 
along  the  side  of  the  river,  often  within  a  foot  of  the 
muddy  shore,  looking  for  frogs,  with  a  very  compact 


MARSH   HAWK  121 

flock  of  small  birds,  probably  swallows,  in  pursuit.  Oc- 
casionally he  alights  and  walks  or  hops  flutteringly  a 
foot  or  two  over  the  ground. 

Nov.  5,  1855.  At  Hubbard's  Crossing  I  see  a  large 
male  hen-harrier  skimming  over  the  meadow,  its  deep 
slate  somewhat  sprinkled  or  mixed  with  black ;  perhaps 
young.  It  flaps  a  little  and  then  sails  straight  forward, 
so  low  it  must  rise  at  every  fence.  But  I  perceive  that 
it  follows  the  windings  of  the  meadow  over  many  fences. 

April  8,  1856.  The  marsh  hawks  ^  flew  in  their  usual 
irregular  low  tacking,  wheeling,  and  circling  flight, 
leisurely  flapping  and  beating,  now  rising,  now  falling, 
in  conformity  with  the  contour  of  the  ground.  The  last 
I  think  I  have  seen  on  the  same  beat  in  former  years. 
He  and  his  race  must  be  well  acquainted  with  the 
Musketicook  and  its  meadows.  No  sooner  is  the  snow 
off  than  he  is  back  to  his  old  haunts,  scouring  that 
part  of  the  meadows  that  is  bare,  while  the  rest  is 
melting.  If  he  returns  from  so  far  to  these  meadows, 
shall  the  sons  of  Concord  be  leaving  them  at  this  sea- 
son for  slight  cause? 

April  22,  1856.  A  marsh  hawk,  in  the  midst  of  the 
rain,  is  skimming  along  the  shore  of  the  meadow,  close 
to  the  ground,  and,  though  not  more  than,  thirty  rods 
off,  I  repeatedly  lose  sight  of  it,  it  is  so  nearly  the  color 
of  the  hillside  beyond.  It  is  looking  for  frogs. 

May  20,  1856.  Two  marsh  hawks,  male  and  female, 

flew  about  me  a  long  time,  screaming,  —  the    female 

largest,  with  ragged  wings,  —  as  I  stood  on  the  neck  of 

the  peninsula.  This  induced  me  to  climb  four  pines, 

1  [Two  seen  that  afternoon.] 


122     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

but  I  tore  my  clothes,  got  pitched  all  over,  and  found 
only  squirrel;  yet  they  have,  no  doubt,  a  nest  there- 
abouts.^ 

May  14, 1857.  See  a  pair  of  marsh  hawks,  the  smaller 
and  lighter-colored  male,  with  black  tips  to  wings,  and 
the  large  brown  female,  sailing  low  over  J.  Hosmer's 
sprout-land  and  screaming,  apparently  looking  for  frogs 
or  the  like.  Or  have  they  not  a  nest  near?  They 
hover  very  near  me.  The  female,  now  so  near,  sails 
very  grandly,  with  the  outer  wing  turned  or  tilted  up 
when  it  circles,  and  the  bars  on  its  tail  when  it  turns, 
etc.,  reminding  me  of  a  great  brown  moth.  Sometimes 
alone;  and  when  it  approaches  its  mate  it  utters  a  low, 
grating  note  like  cur-r-r.  Suddenly  the  female  holds 
straight  toward  me,  descending  gradually.  Steadily  she 
comes  on,  without  swerving,  until  only  two  rods  off, 
then  wheels. 

Oct.  28,  1857.  I  look  up  and  see  a  male  marsh  hawk 
with  his  clean-cut  wings,  that  has  just  skimmed  past 
above  my  head, — not  at  all  disturbed,  only  tilting  his 
body  a  little,  now  twenty  rods  off,  with  demi-semi-quaver 
of  his  wings.  He  is  a  very  neat  flyer. 

Ajyril  19,  1858.  Spend  the  day  hunting  for  my  boat, 
which  was  stolen.  As  I  go  up  the  riverside,  I  see  a  male 
marsh  hawk  hunting.  He  skims  along  exactly  over  the 
edge  of  the  water,  on  the  meadowy  side,  not  more  than 
three  or  four  feet  from  the  ground  and  winding  with 
the  shore,  looking  for  frogs,  for  in  such  a  tortuous  line 
do  the  frogs  sit.  They  probably  know  about  what  time 

1  [Later,  as  will  be  seen,  he  learned  that  marsh  hawks'  nests  are  not 
to  be  looked  for  in  trees.] 


J 


MARSH   HAWK  123 

to  expect  his  visits,  being  regularly  decimated.  Particu- 
lar hawks  farm  particular  meadows.  It  must  be  easy 
for  him  to  get  a  breakfast.  Far  as  I  can  see  with  a 
glass,  he  is  still  tilting  this  way  and  that  over  the 
water-line. 

May  2,  1858.  If  I  were  to  be  a  frog  hawk  for  a  month 
I  should  soon  know  some  things  about  the  frogs.  How 
patiently  they  skim  the  meadows,  occasionally  alighting, 
and  fluttering  as  if  it  were  difficult  ever  to  stand  still 
on  the  ground.  I  have  seen  more  of  them  than  usual 
since  I  too  have  been  looking  for  frogs. 

May  30,  1858.  P.  M.  —  To  hen-harrier's  nest  and  to 
Ledum  Swamp. 

Edward  Emerson  shows  me  the  nest  which  he  and 
another  discovered.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  the  low  wood, 
sometimes  inundated,  just  southwest  of  Hubbard's 
Bath,  the  island  of  wood  in  the  meadow.  The  hawk 
rises  when  we  approach  and  circles  about  over  the 
wood,  uttering  a  note  singularly  like  the  common  one 
of  the  flicker.  The  nest  is  in  a  more  bushy  or  open 
place  in  this  low  wood,  and  consists  of  a  large  mass 
of  sedge  and  stubble  with  a  very  few  small  twigs,  as 
it  were  accidentally  intermingled.  It  is  about  twenty 
inches  in  diameter  and  remarkably  flat,  the  slight  de- 
pression in  the  middle  not  exceeding  three  quarters 
of  an  inch.  The  whole  opening  amid  the  low  bushes 
is  not  more  than  two  feet  in  diameter.  The  thickness 
of  it  raises  the  surface  about  four  inches  above  the 
ground.  The  inner  and  upper  part  is  jmiformly  rather 
fine  and  pale-brown  sedge.  There  are  two  dirty,  or 
rather  dirtied,  white  eggs  left  (of  four  that  were),  one 


124    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

o£  them  one  and  seven  tenths  inches  long,  and  not 
"  spherical,"  as  Brewer  says,  but  broad  in  proportion 
to  length.^ 

June  8,  1858.  The  marsh  hawk's  eggs  are  not  yet 
hatched.  She  rises  when  I  get  within  a  rod  and  utters 
that  peculiar  cackling  or  scolding  note,  much  like,  but 
distinct  from,  that  of  the  pigeon  woodpecker.  She  keeps 
circling  over  the  nest  and  repeatedly  stoops  within  a 
rod  of  my  head  in  an  angry  manner.  She  is  not  so 
large  as  a  hen-hawk,  and  is  much  more  slender.  She 
will  come  sailing  swiftly  and  low  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees  and  bushes,  etc.,  and  then  stoop  as  near  to  my 
head  as  she  dares,  in  order  to  scare  me  away.  The 
primaries,  of  which  I  count  but  five,  are  very  long  and 
loose,  or  distant,  like  fingers  with  which  she  takes  hold 
of  the  air,  and  form  a  very  distinct  part  of  the  wing, 
making  an  angle  with  the  rest.  Yet  they  are  not  broad 
and  give  to  the  wing  a  long  and  slender  appearance. 
The  legs  are  stretched  straight  back  under  the  tail.^  I 
see  nothing  of  the  male,  nor  did  I  before.  A  red-wing 
and  a  kingbird  are  soon  in  pursuit  of  the  hawk,  which 
proves,  I  think,  that  she  meddles  with  their  nests  or 
themselves.  She  circles  over  me,  scolding,  as  far  as  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  or  fifteen  rods. 

June  17,  1858.  P.  M.— To  hawk's  nest. 

One  Q.gg  is  hatched  since  the  8th,  and  the  young  bird, 
all  down,  with  a  tinge  of  fawn  or  cinnamon,  lies  motion- 

^  Another  is  one  and  seven  eighths  inches  long  by  one  and  a  half 
inches. 

^  [This  is  the  habitual  manner  of  carrying  the  legs  in  flight  among 
the  birds  of  prey  and  some  other  orders.  See  Dr.  C.  W.  Townsend's 
paper  in  the  Auk,  AprU,  1909,  vol.  xxvi,  p.  109.] 


MARSH  HAWK  125 

less  on  its  breast  with  its  head  down  and  is  already 
about  four  inches  long!  An  hour  or  two  after,  I  see 
the  old  hawk  pursue  a  stake-driver  which  was  flying 
over  this  spot,  darting  down  at  him  and  driving  him 
off. 

Aug.  8,  1858.  Saw  yesterday  a  this  year's  (?)  marsh 
hawk,  female,  flying  low  across  the  road  near  Hildreth's. 
I  took  it  to  be  a  young  bird,  it  came  so  near  and  looked 
so  fresh.  It  is  a  fine  rich-brown,  full-breasted  bird,  with 
a  long  tail.  Some  hens  in  the  grass  beneath  were  greatly 
alarmed  and  began  to  run  and  fly  with  a  cackling  to  the 
shelter  of  a  corn-field.  They  which  did  not  see  the  hawk 
and  were  the  last  to  stir  expressed  the  most  alarm. 
Meanwhile  the  hawk  sails  low  and  steadily  over  the 
field  away,  not  thinking  of  disturbing  them. 

Oct.  9,  1858.  Methinks  hawks  are  more  commonly 
seen  now,  —  the  slender  marsh  hawk  for  one.  I  see  four 
or  five  in  different  places.  I  watch  two  marsh  hawks 
which  rise  from  the  woods  before  me  as  I  sit  on  the 
Cliff,  at  first  plunging  at  each  other,  gradually  lifting 
themselves  as  they  come  round  in  their  gyrations,  higher 
and  higher,  and  floating  toward  the  southeast.  Slender 
dark  motes  they  are  at  last,  almost  lost  to  sight,  but 
every  time  they  come  round  eastward  I  see  the  light  of 
the  westering  sun  reflected  from  the  under  sides  of 
their  wings. 

JVbv.  20,  1858.  He  *  says  that  a  marsh  hawk  had  his 
nest  in  his  meadow  several  years,  and  though  he  shot 
the  female  three  times,  the  male  with  but  little  delay 
returned  with  a  new  mate.   He  often  watched  these 

^  [Martial  Miles,  a  Concord  farmer.] 


126     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

birds,  and  saw  that  the  female  could  tell  when  the  male 
was  coming  a  long  way  off.  He  thought  that  he  fed 
her  and  the  young  all  together  (?).  She  would  utter  a 
scream  when  she  perceived  him,  and,  rising  into  the 
air  (before  or  after  the  scream?),  she  turned  over 
with  her  talons  uppermost,  while  he  passed  some  three 
rods  above,  and  caught  without  fail  the  prey  which 
he  let  drop,  and  then  carried  it  to  her  young.  He 
had  seen  her  do  this  many  times,  and  always  without 
failing. 

March  24,  1860.  I  see  a  male  frog  hawk  beating 
a  hedge,  scarcely  rising  more  than  two  feet  from 
the  ground  for  half  a  mile,  quite  below  the  level 
of  the  wall  within  it.  How  unlike  the  hen-hawk  in 
this ! 

Maij  8,  1860.  How  the  marsh  hawk  circles  or  skims 
low,  round  and  round  over  a  particular  place  in  a 
meadow,  where,  perhaps,  it  has  seen  a  frog,  screaming 
once  or  twice,  and  then  alights  on  a  fence-post !  How 
it  crosses  the  causeway  between  the  willows,  at  a  gap 
in  them  with  which  it  is  familiar,  as  a  hen  knows  a 
hole  in  a  fence !  I  lately  saw  one  flying  over  the  road 
near  our  house. 

May  29,  1860.  We  next  proceeded  to  the  marsh 
hawk's  nest  from  which  the  eggs  were  taken  a  fortnight 
ago  and  the  female  shot.  It  was  in  a  long  and  narrow 
Cassandra  swamp  northwest  of  the  lime-kiln  and  some 
thirty  rods  from  the  road,  on  the  side  of  a  small  and 
more  open  area  some  two  rods  across,  where  were  few 
if  any  bushes  and  more  [?]  sedge  with  the  cassandra. 
The  nest  was  on  a  low  tussock,  and  about  eighteen 


MARSH   HAWK  127 

inches  across,  made  of  dead  birch  twigs  around  and  a 
pitch  pine  plume  or  two,  and  sedge  grass  at  bottom, 
with  a  small  cavity  in  the  middle. 

The  female  was  shot  and  eggs  taken  on  the  16th ; 
yet  here  was  the  male,  hovering  anxiously  over  the  spot 
and  neighborhood  and  scolding  at  us.  Betraying  him- 
self from  time  to  time  by  that  peculiar  clacking  note 
reminding  you  of  a  pigeon  woodpecker.  We  thought  it 
likely  that  he  had  already  got  another  mate  and  a  new 
nest  near  by.  He  would  not  quite  withdraw  though  fired 
at,  but  still  would  return  and  circle  near  us.  They  are 
said  to  find  a  new  mate  very  soon. 

July  3,  1860.  Looked  for  the  marsh  hawk's  nest  (of 
June  16th)  in  the  Great  Meadows.*  It  was  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  sweet-gale  (which  is  three  feet  high),  oc- 
cupying an  opening  only  a  foot  or  two  across.  We  had 
much  difficulty  in  finding  it  again,  but  at  last  nearly 
stumbled  on  to  a  young  hawk.  There  was  one  as  big 
as  my  fist,  resting  on  the  bare,  flat  nest  in  the  sun, 
with  a  great  head,  staring  eyes,  and  open  gaping  or 
panting  mouth,  yet  mere  down,  grayish-white  down,  as 
yet ;  but  I  detected  another  which  had  crawled  a  foot 
one  side  amid  the  bushes  for  shade  or  safety,  more  than 
half  as  large  again,  with  small  feathers  and  a  yet  more 
angry,  hawk-like  look.  How  naturally  anger  sits  on  the 
young  hawk's  head !  It  was  3.30  P.  M.,  and  the  old 
birds  were  gone  and  saw  us  not.  Meanwhile  their  callow 
young  lie  panting  under  the  sweet-gale  and  rose  bushes 
in  the  swamp,  waiting  for  their  parents  to  fetch  them 
food. 

^  [This  was  another  nest  than  that  described  under  May  29.] 


128     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIKDS 

SHARP-SHINNED  HAWK 

May  4,  1855.'  Sitting  in  Abel  Brooks's  Hollow,  see 
a  small  hawk  go  over  high  in  the  air,  with  a  long  tail 
and  distinct  from  wings.  It  advanced  by  a  sort  of  limp- 
ing flight  yet  rapidly,  not  circling  nor  tacking,  but 
flapping  briskly  at  intervals  and  then  gliding  straight 
ahead  with  rapidity,  controlling  itself  with  its  tail.  It 
seemed  to  be  going  a  journey.  Was  it  not  the  sharp- 
shinned,  or  jFalco  /uscus  ?  ^ 

July  21,  1858.  P.  M.  —  To  Walden,  with  E.  Bart- 
lett  and  E.  Emerson. 

The  former  wished  to  show  me  what  he  thought  an 
owl's  nest  he  had  found.  Near  it,  in  Abel  Brooks's 
wood-lot,  heard  a  note  and  saw  a  small  hawk  fly  over. 
It  was  the  nest  of  this  bird.  Saw  several  of  the  young 
flitting  about  and  occasionally  an  old  bird.  The  nest 
was  in  a  middling-sized  white  pine,  some  twenty  feet 
from  the  ground,  resting  on  two  limbs  close  to  the  main 
stem,  on  the  south  side  of  it.  It  was  quite  solid,  com- 
posed entirely  of  twigs  about  as  big  round  as  a  pipe- 
stem  and  less ;  was  some  fifteen  inches  in  diameter  and 
one  inch  deep,  or  nearly  flat,  and  perhaps  five  inches 
thick.  It  was  very  much  dirtied  on  the  sides  by  the 
droppings  of  the  young.  As  we  were  standing  about  the 
tree,  we  heard  again  the  note  of  a  young  one  approach- 
ing. We  dropped  upon  the  ground,  and  it  alighted  on 
the  edge  of  the  nest;  another  alighted  near  by,  and  a 
third  a  little  further  off.  The  young  were  apparently 
as  big  as  the  old,  but  still  lingered  about  the  nest  and 
^  [The  sharp-shinned  hawk  is  now  known  as  Accipiter  velox.] 


SHARP-SHINNED   HAWK  129 

returned  to  it.  I  could  hear  them  coming  some  distance 
off.  Their  note  was  a  kind  of  peeping  squeal,  which 
you  might  at  first  suspect  to  be  made  by  a  jay;  not 
very  loud,  but  as  if  to  attract  the  old  and  reveal  their 
whereabouts.  The  note  of  the  old  bird,  which  occasion- 
ally dashed  past,  was  somewhat  like  that  of  the  marsh 
hawk  or  pigeon  woodpecker,  a  cackling  or  clattering 
sound,  chiding  us.  The  old  bird  was  anxious  about  her 
inexperienced  young,  and  was  trying  to  get  them  off. 
At  length  she  dashed  close  past  us,  and  appeared  to 
fairly  strike  one  of  the  young,  knocking  him  off  his 
perch,  and  he  soon  followed  her  off.  I  saw  the  remains 
of  several  birds  lying  about  in  that  neighborhood,  and 
saw  and  heard  again  the  young  and  old  thereabouts  for 
several  days  thereafter.  A  young  man  killed  one  of  the 
young  hawks,  and  I  saw  it.  It  was  the  Falco fuscus^ 
the  American  brown  or  slate-colored  hawk.  Its  length 
was  thirteen  inches;  alar  extent,  twenty-three.  The 
tail  reached  two  or  more  inches  beyond  the  closed 
wings.  Nuttall  says  the  upper  parts  are  "  a  deep  slate- 
color  "  (these  were  very  dark  brown)  ;  also  that  the 
nest  is  yet  unknown.  But  Wilson  describes  his  F.velox 
(which  is  the  same  as  Nuttall's  F.  fuscus)  as  "  whole 
upper  parts  very  dark  brown,"  but  legs,  greenish-yellow 
(these  were  yellow).  The  toes  had  the  peculiar  pendu- 
lous lobes  which  W.  refers  to.  As  I  saw  it  in  the  woods, 
I  was  struck  by  its  dark  color  above,  its  tawny  throat 
and  breast,  brown-spotted,  its  clean,  slender,  long  yel- 
low legs,  feathered  but  little  below  the  knee,  its  white 
vent,  its  wings  distinctly  and  rather  finely  dark-barred 
beneath,  short,  black,  much  curved  bill,  and  slender 


130    NOTES  ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

black  sharp  claws.  Its  tail  with  a  dark  bar  near  edge 
beneath.  In  hand  I  found  it  had  the  white  spots  on 
scapulars  of  the  F.fuscus,  and  had  not  the  white  bars 
on  tail  of  the  F.  Pennsylvanicus.^  It  also  had  the  fine 
sharp  shin. 

[zS'ee  also  under  Blackbirds,  p.  264.] 

cooper's  hawk 

May  29,  1860.  We  proceeded  to  the  Cooper's 
hawk  nest  in  an  oak  and  pine  wood  (Clark's)  north  of 
Ponkawtasset.  I  found  a  fragment  of  one  of  the  eggs 
which  he  ^  had  thrown  out.  Farmer's  egg^  by  the  way, 
was  a  dull  or  dirty  white,  i.  e.  a  rough  white  with  large 
dirty  spots,  perhaps  in  the  grain,  but  not  surely,  of  a 
regular  oval  form  and  a  little  larger  than  his  marsh 
hawk's  egg.  I  climbed  to  the  nest,  some  thirty  to  thirty- 
five  feet  high  in  a  white  pine,  against  the  main  stem. 
It  was  a  mass  of  bark -fibre  and  sticks  about  two  and  a 
half  feet  long  by  eighteen  inches  wide  and  sixteen  high. 
The  lower  and  main  portion  was  a  solid  mass  of  fine 
bark-fibre  such  as  a  red  squirrel  uses.  This  was  sur- 
rounded and  surmounted  by  a  quantity  of  dead  twigs 
of  pine  and  oak,  etc.,  generally  the  size  of  a  pipe-stem 
or  less.  The  concavity  was  very  slight,  not  more  than 
an  inch  and  a  half,  and  there  was  nothing  soft  for  a 
lining,  the  bark-fibres  being  several  inches  beneath  the 
twigs,  but  the  bottom  was  floored  for  a  diameter  of  six 
inches  or  more  with  flakes  of  white  oak  and  pitch  pine 

^  [The  broad-winged  hawk,  now  called  Buteo  platypterus.] 
"  [Jacob  Farmer,  who  had  found  the  nest  and  shot  the  female  hawk 
May  16,  saving  one  of  the  eggs.] 


RED-TAILED   HAWK  131 

bark  one  to  two  inches  long  each,  a  good  handful  of 
theni,  and  on  this  the  eggs  had  lain.  We  saw  nothing 
of  the  hawk. 

RED-TAILED  HAWK;   HEN-HAWK 

March  26,  1853.  Up  the  Assabet,  scared  from  his 
perch  a  stout  hawk,  —  the  red-tailed  undoubtedly,  for 
I  saw  very  plainly  the  cow-red  when  he  spread  his 
wings  from  oj6f  his  tail  (and  rump  ?).  I  rowed  the  boat 
three  times  within  gunshot  before  he  flew,  twice  within 
four  fods,  while  he  sat  on  an  oak  over  the  water,  —  I 
think  because  I  had  two  ladies  with  me,  which  was  as 
good  as  bushing  the  boat.  Each  time,  or  twice  at  least, 
he  made  a  motion  to  fly  before  he  started.  The  ends  of 
his  primaries  looked  very  ragged  against  the  sky.  This 
is  the  hen-hawk  of  the  farmer,  the  same,  probably, 
which  I  have  scared  off  from  the  Cliff  so  often.  It  was 
an  interesting  eagle-like  object,  as  he  sat  upright  on 
his  perch  with  his  back  to  us,  now  and  then  looking 
over  his  shoulder,  the  broad-backed,  flat-headed,  curve- 
beaked  bird. 

April  4,  1853.  At  Conantum  End  I  saw  a  red-tailed 
hawk  launch  himself  away  from  an  oak  by  the  pond 
at  my  approach,  —  a  heavy  flier,  flapping  even  like  the 
great  bittern  at  first,  —  heavy  forward. 

April  30,  1855.  I  hear  from  far  the  scream  of  a 
hawk  circling  over  the  Holden  woods  and  swamp.  This 
accounts  for  those  two  men  with  guns  just  entering  it. 
What  a  dry,  shrill,  angry  scream !  I  see  the  bird  with 
my  glass  resting  upon  the  topmost  plume  of  a  tall  white 
pine.  Its   back,  reflecting   the   light,   looks   white    in 


132     NOTES   ON    NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

patches;  and  now  it  circles  again.  It  is  a  red-tailed 
hawk.  The  tips  of  its  wings  are  curved  upward  as  it 
sails.  How  it  scolds  at  the  men  beneath  !  I  see  its  open 
bill.  It  must  have  a  nest  there.  Hark !  there  goes  a 
gun,  and  down  it  tumbles  from  a  rod  or  two  above  the 
wood.  So  I  thought,  but  was  mistaken.  In  the  mean- 
while, I  learn  that  there  is  a  nest  there,  and  the  gun- 
ners killed  one  this  morning,  which  I  examined.  They 
are  now  getting  the  young.  Above  it  was  brown,  but 
not  at  all  reddish-brown  except  about  head.  Above 
perhaps  I  should  call  it  brown,  and  a  dirty  white  be- 
neath ;  wings  above  thickly  barred  with  darker,  and  also 
wings  beneath.  The  tail  of  twelve  reddish  feathers, 
once  black-barred  near  the  end.  The  feet  pale-yellow 
and  very  stout,  with  strong,  sharp  black  claws.  The 
head  and  neck  were  remarkably  stout,  and  the  beak 
short  and  curved  from  the  base.  Powerful  neck  and 
legs.  The  claws  pricked  me  as  I  handled  it.  It  measured 
one  yard  and  three  eighths  plus  from  tip  to  *tip,  i.  e. 
four  feet  and  two  inches.  Some  ferruginous  on  the 
neck  ;  ends  of  wings  nearly  black. 

May  1,  1855.  Went  to  Garfield's  for  the  hawk  of 
yesterday.  It  was  nailed  to  the  barn  in  terrorem  and 
as  a  trophy.  He  gave  it  to  me  with  an  egg.  He  called 
it  the  female,  and  probably  was  right,  it  was  so  large. 
He  tried  in  vain  to  shoot  the  male,  which  I  saw  circling 
about  just  out  of  gunshot  and  screaming,  while  he 
robbed  the  nest.  He  climbed  the  tree  when  I  was  there 
yesterday  afternoon,  the  tallest  white  pine  or  other  tree 
in  its  neighborhood,  over  a  swamp,  and  found  two 
young,  which  he  thought  not  more  than  a  fortnight  old, 


RED-TAILED   HAWK  133 

—  with  only  down,  at  least  no  feathers,  — and  one  ad- 
dled egg,  also  three  or  four  white-bellied  or  deer  mouse 
(^Mus  le^icopus^'),  a  perch,  and  a  sucker,^  and  a  gray- 
rabbit's  skin.  He  had  seen  squirrels,  etc.,  in  other  nests. 
These  fishes  were  now  stale.  I  found  the  remains  of  a 
partridge  under  the  tree.  The  reason  I  did  not  see  my 
hawks  at  Well  Meadow  last  year  was  that  he  found  and 
broke  up  their  nest  there,  containing  five  eggs. 

The  hawk  measures  exactly  22|  inches  in  length  and 
4  feet  4:^  inches  in  alar  extent,  and  weighs  3^  pounds. 
The  ends  of  closed  wings  almost  two  inches  short  of  end 
of  tail.  General  color  above  of  wings  and  back  an  oli- 
vaceous brown,  thickly  barred  with  waving  lines  of  very 
dark  brown,  there  being  a  much  broader  bar  next  to  the 
tip  of  the  secondaries  and  tertiaries  ;  and  the  first  five 
primaries  are  nearly  black  toward  the  ends.  A  little 
white  appears,  especially  on  the  tertiaries.  The  wing- 
coverts  and  scapulars  glossed  with  purple  reflections. 
The  twelve  tail-feathers  (which  MacGillivray  says  is 
the  number  in  all  birds  of  prey,  i.  e.  the  FalconincB  and 
Strigince)  showing  five  and  three  quarters  inches  a 
clear  brown  red,  or  rather  fox-color,  above,  with  a  nar- 
row dark  band  within  half  an  inch  of  the  end,  which  is 
tipped  with  dirty  white.  A  slight  inclination  to  dusky 
bars  near  the  end  of  one  side  feather.  Lower  tail- 
coverts  for  nearly  an  inch  white,  barred  with  fox-color. 
Head  and  neck  a  paler,  inclining  to  ferruginous,  brown. 
Beneath  :  Breast  and  wing-linings  brown  and  white, 
the  feathers  of  first  centred  with  large  dark-brown  has- 

^  [Now  known  as  Peromyscus  leucopus  noveboracensis.  ] 
2  I  think  these  must  have  been  dead  fish  they  found. 


134     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

tate  spots,  and  the  wing-linings  streaked  with  ferrugi- 
nous. Wings  white,  barred  with  dusky.  "  Vent  and 
femorals,"  as  Nuttall  says,  "pale  ochreous."  Tail  white, 
softened  by  the  superior  color.  I  do  not  perceive  that 
the  abdomen  is  barred. 

Bill  very  blue  black,  with  a  short,  stout  curved  tip, 
—  curving  from  the  cere  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  cir- 
cle, extends  not  quite  a  quarter  of  an  inch  beyond  the 
lower  mandible,  —  and  is  proportionally  stouter  at  tip 
than  in  any  of  his  Falconince,  judging  from  plates  of 
heads ;  whole  visible,  including  cere,  1|^  inches  long, 
and  1  inch  deep  at  base  ;  cere  yellowish-green. 

Tarsus  and  toes  very  pale  yellow  ;  claws  blue-black. 
As  MacGillivray  says  of  Buteo,  claws  flattened  beneath, 
"that  of  the  middle  toe  with  an  inner  sharp  edge." 
(He  says,  as  I  gather,  that  all  the  diurnal  birds  of  prey 
of  Great  Britain,  i.  e.  Falconince,  have  claws  either 
flattened  or  concave  beneath,  except  Pandlon,  the 
inner  edge  of  the  middle  one  being  more  or  less  sharp, 
but  least  so  in  Circus,  or  harrier.)  Tarsus  feathered 
in  front  one  third  the  way  down.  The  toes  for  length 
stand  in  this  order,  —  the  first  (or  hind),  second, 
fourth,  third,  the  first  being  the  shortest ;  for  stoutness 
thus,  —  one,  two,  three,  four.  Claws  for  stoutness  fol- 
low the  same  order  with  the  toes.  Utmost  spread  of  toes 
and  claws  4|  inches.  A  considerable  web  between  third 
and  fourth  toes.^  Toes  with  papillae  not  rigid  beneath. 

The  wing  extends  nearly  two  feet  from  the  body, 
and  is  10|  inches  wide;  from  flexure  is  15|  inches. 

1  In  thia  respect  Circus  and  Falco  much  the  same ;  Aquila  and 
Pernis  and  Milvus  have  several  short  webs ;  Haliaetus,  Pandion,  and 
Acdpiter  are  free. 


EED-TAILED   HAWK  135 

When  fully  expanded  it  has  a  rounded  outline  and  a 
ragged  appearance  owing  to  the  separation  of  the  first 
five  or  six  primaries,  as  I  noticed  the  male  bird  while 
resting.  The  first  primary  short ;  they  stand,  first  and 
eighth,  seventh,  sixth,  second,  fifth,  third,  fourth.  The 
fifth  and  third  are  about  the  same  length,  and  the 
fourth  only  a  quarter  of  an  inch  longer  than  the  third. 
As  in  the  Buteo  vulgaris  of  MacGillivray,  found  in 
Europe  and  in  our  north,  the  four  first  primaries 
"  abruptly  cut  out  on  the  inner  web " ;  the  second, 
third,  fourth,  and  fifth,  but  not  the  first  and  sixth, 
"  slightly  so  on  the  outer."  There  are  ten  primaries 
and  there  are  fourteen  secondaries.  (MacGillivray  says 
the  primaries  of  the  Falconinm  are  ten,  the  seconda- 
ries from  thirteen  to  eighteen.)  The  wing,  I  see,  natu- 
rally opens  at  the  primaries. 

This  is  evidently  very  closely  allied  to  the  Buteo 
vulgaris^  but  apparently  the  wings  are  not  so  long  com- 
pared with  the  tail,  and  there  is  a  difference  in  the 
comparative  length  and  stoutness  of  the  toes  ;  the  feet 
of  this  are  not  "  hright  yellow,"  and  the  upper  man- 
dible is  much  stouter  and  more  recurved  at  tip,  judging 
from  his  plate  of  the  head  and  his  description.  It  is 
recurved  as  much  as  his  osprey's. 

The  ear  looked  like  a  large  round  hole  in  the  side 
of  the  head  behind  the  eye. 

The  egg  is  a  very  dirty  brownish  white,  with  brown 
spots  about  the  smaller  end,  though  one  end  is  about 
as  large  as  the  other.  It  is  larger  than  a  hen's  egg,  — 
2|  inches  by  2. 


136    NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Early  in  spring  I  occasionally  see  hen-hawks  perched 
about  river,  and  approach  quite  near  them,  but  never 
at  any  other  time. 

This  hawk's  flesh  had  a  very  disagreeable  rank  scent, 
as  I  was  cutting  it  up,  though  fresh,  —  cutting  off  the 
wings,  etc.,  etc. 

Sei^t.  14,  1855.    P.  M.—  To  Hubbard's  Close. 

I  scare  from  an  oak  by  the  side  of  the  Close  a  young 
hen-hawk,  which,  launching  off  with  a  scream  and  a 
heavy  flight,  alights  on  the  topmost  plume  of  a  large 
pitch  pine  in  the  swamp  northward,  bending  it  down, 
with  its  back  toward  me,  where  it  might  be  mistaken 
for  a  plume  against  the  sky,  the  light  makes  all  things 
so  black.  It  has  a  red  tail ;  black  primaries ;  scapulars 
and  wing-coverts  gray-brown  ;  back  showing  much 
white  and  whitish  head.  It  keeps  looking  round,  first 
this  side  then  that,  warily. 

Oct.  28,  1857.  I  hear  the  scream  of  a  hen-hawk, 
soaring  and  cii'cling  onward.  I  do  not  often  see  the 
marsh  hawk  thus.  What  a  regular  figure  this  fellow 
makes  on  high,  with  his  broad  tail  and  broad  wings ! 
Does  he  perceive  me,  that  he  rises  higher  and  circles 
to  one  side  ?  He  goes  round  now  one  full  circle  without 
a  flap,  tilting  his  wing  a  little ;  then  flaps  three  or  four 
times  and  rises  higher.  Now  he  comes  on  like  a  billow, 
screaming.  Steady  as  a  planet  in  its  orbit,  with  his 
head  bent  down,  but  on  second  thought  that  small 
sprout-land  seems  worthy  of  a  longer  scrutiny,  and  he 
gives  one  circle  backward  over  it.  His  scream  is  some- 
what like  the  whinnering  of  a  horse,  if  it  is  not  rather 


RED-TAILED   HAWK  13T 

a,  split  squeal.^  It  is  a  hoarse,  tremulous  breathing 
forth  of  his  winged  energy.  But  why  is  it  so  regularly 
repeated  at  that  height  ?  Is  it  to  scare  his  prey,  that 
he  may  see  by  its  motion  where  it  is,  or  to  inform  its 
mate  or  companion  of  its  whereabouts  ?  Now  he  crosses 
the  at  present  broad  river  steadily,  deserving  to  have 
one  or  two  rabbits  at  least  to  swing  about  him.  What 
majesty  there  is  in  this  small  bird's  flight !  The  hawks 
are  large-souled. 

March  23,  1859.  As  we  entered  Well  Meadow,  we 
saw  a  hen-hawk  perch  on  the  topmost  plume  of  one 
of  the  tall  pines  at  the  head  of  the  meadow.  Soon 
another  appeared,  probably  its  mate,  but  we  looked  in 
vain  for  a  nest  there.  It  was  a  fine  sight,  their  soaring 
above  our  heads,  present-  p. 
ing  a  perfect  outline  and, 
as  they  came  round,  show- 
ing their  rust-colored  tails              ^         ^■ 

with  a  whitish  rump,  or,  *"-' J 

as  they  sailed  away  from  us,  that  slight  teetering  or 
quivering  motion  of  their  dark-tipped  wings  seen  edge- 
wise, now  on  this  side,  now  that,  by  which  they  balanced 
and  directed  themselves.  These  are  the  most  eagle-like 
of  our  common  hawks.  They  very  commonly  perch  upon 
the  very  topmost  plume  of  a  pine,  and,  if  motionless, 
are  rather  hard  to  distinguish  there. 

1  [The  note  described  is  evidently  that  of  the  red-tailed  hawk  rather 
than  that  of  the  other  "  hen-hawk,"  the  red-shouldered.] 


138     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

HEN-HAWKS    (SPECIES    UNIDENTIFIED)^ 

Sept.  7, 1851.  There  were  two  hen-hawks  soared  and 
circled  for  our  entertainment,  when  we  were  in  the 
woods  on  that  Boon  Plain^  the  other  day,  crossing  each 
other's  orbits  from  time  to  time,  alternating  like  the  squir- 
rels of  the  morning,^  till,  alarmed  by  our  imitation  of 
a  hawk's  shrill  cry,  they  gradually  inflated  themselves, 
made  themselves  more  aerial,  and  rose  higher  and  higher 
into  the  heavens,  and  were  at  length  lost  to  sight ;  yet 
all  the  while  earnestly  looking,  scanning  the  surface  of 
the  earth  for  a  stray  mouse  or  rabbit. 

June  8,  1853.  As  I  stood  by  this  pond,  I  heard  a 
hawk  scream,  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  pretty  large  one 
circling  not  far  off  and  incessantly  screaming,  as  I  at  first 
supposed  to  scare  and  so  discover  its  prey,  but  its  scream- 
ing was  so  incessant  and  it  circled  from  time  to  time  so 
near  me,  as  I  moved  southward,  that  I  began  to  think  it 
had  a  nest  near  by  and  was  angry  at  my  intrusion  into 
its  domains.  As  I  moved,  the  bird  still  followed  and 

^  [The  term  "  hen-hawk  "  is  applied  in  New  England  ordinarily  to 
the  large  buzzard  hawks,  or  buteos,  —  the  red-tailed  hawk  {Buteo  bore- 
alis)  and  the  red-shouldered  hawk  (H.  lineatus).  Thoreau,  however, 
seems  never  to  have  identified  the  latter  species  except  in  the  case  of 
a  dead  bird  brought  to  him  Jan.  12, 1859,  and  Mr.  William  Brewster,  the 
ornithologist,  who  has  known  the  Concord  country  intimately  for  many 
years,  informs  the  editor  that  the  red-tailed  hawk  was  up  to  about  1S8S 
the  common  hen-hawk  there,  though  it  is  now  almost  entirely  super- 
seded by  the  red-shouldered.  It  seems  probable,  therefore,  that  most 
of  Thoreau's  hen-hawks  were  red-tails,  as  was  certainly  the  case  with 
many  which  he  describes.] 

^  [In  Stow,  Mass.,  near  Concord.] 

^  [Two  caged  squirrels  revolving  their  cylinder  alternately.] 


HEN-HAWKS  139 

screamed,  coming  sometimes  quite  near  or.  within  gun- 
shot, then  circling  far  off  or  high  into  the  sky.  At  length, 
as  I  was  looking  up  at  it,  thinking  it  the  only  living 
creature  within  view,  I  was  singularly  startled  to  behold, 
as  my  eye  by  chance  penetrated  deeper  into  the  blue,  — 
the  abyss  of  blue  above,  which  I  had  taken  for  a  soli- 
tude,—  its  mate  silently  soaring  at  an  immense  height 
and  seemingly  indifferent  to  me.  We  are  surprised  to  dis- 
cover that  there  can  be  an  eye  on  us  on  that  side,  and  so 
little  suspected, — that  the  heavens  are  full  of  eyes,  though 
they  look  so  blue  and  spotless.  Then  I  knew  it  was  the 
female  that  circled  and  screamed  below.  At  last  the 
latter  rose  gradually  to  meet  her  mate,  and  they  circled 
together  there,  as  if  they  could  not  possibly  feel  any 
anxiety  on  my  account.  When  I  drew  nearer  to  the  tall 
trees  where  I  suspected  the  nest  to  be,  the  female  de- 
scended again,  swept  by  screaming  still  nearer  to  me  just 
over  the  tree-tops,  and  finally,  while  I  was  looking  for 
the  orchis  in  the  swamp,  alighted  on  a  white  pine  twenty 
or  thirty  rods  off.  (The  great  fringed  orchis  just  open.) 
At  length  I  detected  the  nest  about  eighty  feet  from  the 
ground,  in  a  very  large  white  pine  by  the  edge  of  the 
swamp.  It  was  about  three  feet  in  diameter,  of  dry 
sticks,  and  a  young  hawk,  apparently  as  big  as  its  mother, 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  looking  down  at  me,  and 
only  moving  its  head  when  I  moved.  In  its  imperfect 
plumage  and  by  the  slow  motion  of  its  head  it  reminded 
me  strongly  of  a  vulture,  so  large  and  gaunt.  It  appeared 
a  tawny  brown  on  its  neck  and  breast,  and  dark  brown 
or  blackish  on  wings.  The  mother  was  light  beneath, 
and  apparently  lighter  still  on  rump. 


140     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

June  9,  1853.  I  have  come  with  a  spy-glass  to  look 
at  the  hawks.  They  have  detected  me  and  are  already 
screaming  over  my  head  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the 
nest.  I  find  no  difficulty  in  looking  at  the  young  hawk 
(there  appears  to  be  one  only,  standing  on  the  edge  of 
the  nest),  resting  the  glass  in  the  crotch  of  a  young  oak. 
I  can  see  every  wink  and  the  color  of  its  iris.  It  watches 
me  more  steadily  than  I  it,  now  looking  straight  down 
at  me  with  both  eyes  and  outstretched  neck,  now  turn- 
ing its  head  and  looking  with  one  eye.  How  its  eye  and 
its  whole  head  express  anger !  Its  anger  is  more  in  its 
eye  than  in  its  beak.  It  is  quite  hoary  over  the  eye  and 
on  the  chin.  The  mother  meanwhile  is  incessantly  cir- 
cling about  and  above  its  charge  and  me,  farther  or 
nearer,  sometimes  withdrawing  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
but  occasionally  coming  to  alight  for  a  moment  almost 
within  gunshot,  on  the  top  of  a  tall  white  pine ;  but  I 
hardly  bring  my  glass  fairly  to  bear  on  her,  and  get 
sight  of  her  angry  eye  through  the  pine-needles,  before 
she  circles  away  again.  Thus  for  an  hour  that  I  lay 
there,  screaming  every  minute  or  of  tener  with  open  bill. 
Now  and  then  pursued  by  a  kingbird  or  a  blackbird,  who 
appear  merely  to  annoy  it  by  dashing  down  at  its  back. 
Meanwhile  the  male  is  soaring,  apparently  quite  undis- 
turbed, at  a  great  height  above,  evidently  not  hunting, 
but  amusing  or  recreating  himself  in  the  thinner  and 
cooler  air,  as  if  pleased  with  his  own  circles,  like  a  ge- 
ometer, and  enjoying  the  sublime  scene.  I  doubt  if  he 
has  his  eye  fixed  on  any  prey,  or  the  earth.  He  probably 
descends  to  hunt. 

June  12, 1853.  I  forgot  to  say  that  I  visited  my  hawk's 


HEN-HAWKS  141 

nest,  and  the  young  hawk  was  perched  now  four  or 
five  feet  above  the  nest,  still  in  the  shade.  It  will  soon 
fly.  Now,  then,  in  secluded  pine  woods,  the  young 
hawks  sit  high  on  the  edges  of  their  nests  or  on  the  twigs 
near  by  in  the  shade,  waiting  for  their  pinions  to  grow, 
while  their  parents  bring  to  them  their  prey.  Their 
silence  also  is  remarkable,  not  to  betray  themselves,  nor 
will  the  old  bird  go  to  the  nest  while  you  are  in  sight. 
She  pursues  me  half  a  mile  when  I  withdraw. 

June  13,  1853.  9  A.  M.  —  To  Orchis  Swamp. 

Find  that  there  are  two  young  hawks  ;  one  has  left  the 
nest  and  is  perched  on  a  small  maple  seven  or  eight  rods 
distant.  This  one  appears  much  smaller  than  the  former 
one.  I  am  struck  by  its  large,  naked  head,  so  vulture- 
like, and  large  eyes,  as  if  the  vulture's  were  an  inferior 
stage  through  which  the  hawk  passed.  Its  feet,  too,  are 
large,  remarkably  developed,  by  which  it  holds  to  its 
perch  securely  like  an  old  bird,  before  its  wings  can  per- 
form their  office.  It  has  a  buff  breast,  striped  with  dark 
brown.  Pratt,  when  I  told  him  of  this  nest,  said  he 
would  like  to  carry  one  of  his  rifles  down  there.  But  I 
told  him  that  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  them  killed.  I 
would  rather  save  one  of  these  hawks  than  have  a  hun- 
dred hens  and  chickens.  It  was  worth  more  to  see  them 
soar,  especially  now  that  they  are  so  rare  in  the  land- 
scape. It  is  easy  to  buy  eggs,  but  not  to  buy  hen-hawks. 
My  neighbors  would  not  hesitate  to  shoot  the  last  pair 
of  hen-hawks  in  the  town  to  save  a  few  of  their  chick- 
ens !  But  such  economy  is  narrow  and  grovelling.  It 
is  unnecessarily  to  sacrifice  the  greater  value  to  the  less. 
I  would  rather  never  taste  chickens'  meat  nor  hens'  eggs 


142     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

than  never  to  see  a  hawk  sailing  through  the  upper  air 
again.  This  sight  is  worth  incomparably  more  than  a 
chicken  soup  or  a  boiled  egg.  So  we  exterminate  the 
deer  and  substitute  the  hog.  It  was  amusing  to  observe 
the  swaying  to  and  fro  of  the  young  hawk's  head  to 
counterbalance  the  gentle  motion  of  the  bough  in  the 
wind. 

May  4,  1858.  As  I  sit  there  by  the  swamp-side  this 
warm  summery  afternoon,  I  hear  the  crows  cawing 
hoarsely,  and  from  time  to  time  see  one  flying  toward  the 
top  of  a  tall  white  pine.  At  length  I  distinguish  a  hen- 
hawk  perched  on  the  top.  The  crow  repeatedly  stoops 
toward  him,  now  from  this  side,  now  from  that,  passing 
near  his  head  each  time,  but  he  pays  not  the  least  atten- 
tion to  it. 

JYov.  9,  1858.  Now  the  young  hen-hawks,  full-grown 
but  inexperienced,  still  white-breasted  and  brown  (not 
red)-tailed,  swoop  down  after  the  farmer's  hens,  between 
the  barn  and  the  house,  often  carrying  one  o£E  in  their 
clutches,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  pack  half  fly,  half  run, 
to  the  barn.  Unwarrantably  bold,  one  ventures  to  stoop 
before  the  farmer's  eyes.  He  clutches  in  haste  his  trusty 
gun,  which  hangs,  ready  loaded,  on  its  pegs  ;  he  pursues 
warily  to  where  the  marauder  sits  teetering  on  a  lofty 
pine,  and  when  he  is  sailing  scornfully  away  he  meets 
his  fate  and  comes  fluttering  head  forward  to  earth. 
The  exulting  farmer  hastes  to  secure  his  trophy.  He 
treats  the  proud  bird's  body  with  indignity.  He  carries 
it  home  to  show  to  his  wife  and  children,  for  the  hens 
were  his  wife's  special  care.  He  thinks  it  one  of  his  best 
shots,  full  thirteen  rods.  This  gun  is  "  an  all-Jired  good 


HEN-HAWKS  143 

piece" — nothing  but  robin-shot.  The  body  of  the  vic- 
tim is  delivered  up  to  the  children  and  the  dog  and,  like 
the  body  of  Hector,  is  dragged  so  many  times  round 
Troy. 

But  alas  for  the  youthful  hawk,  the  proud  bird  of 
prey,  the  tenant  of  the  skies  !  We  shall  no  more  see  his 
wave-like  outline  against  a  cloud,  nor  hear  his  scream 
from  behind  one.  He  saw  but  a  pheasant  in  the  field, 
the  food  which  nature  has  provided  for  him,  and  stooped 
to  seize  it.  This  was  his  offense.  He,  the  native  of  these 
skies,  must  make  way  for  those  bog-trotters  from  an- 
other land,  which  never  soar.  The  eye  that  was  con- 
versant with  sublimity,  that  looked  down  on  earth  from 
under  its  sharp  projecting  brow,  is  closed  ;  the  head 
that  was  never  made  dizzy  by  any  height  is  brought 
low  ;  the  feet  that  were  not  made  to  walk  on  earth  now 
lie  useless  along  it.  With  those  trailing  claws  for  grap- 
nels it  dragged  the  lower  sky.  Those  wings  which  swept 
the  sky  must  now  dust  the  chimney-corner,  perchance. 
So  weaponed,  with  strong  beak  and  talons,  and  wings, 
like  a  war-steamer,  to  carry  them  about.  In  vain  were 
the  brown-spotted  eggs  laid,  in  vain  were  ye  cradled  in 
the  loftiest  pine  of  the  swamp.  Where  are  your  father 
and  mother  ?  Will  they  hear  of  your  early  death  ?  before 
ye  had  acquired  your  full  plumage,  they  who  nursed  and 
defended  ye  so  faithfully  ? 

Nqv.  11,  1858.  The  tail-coverts  of  the  young  hen- 
hawk,  i.  e.  this  year's  bird,  at  present  are  white,  very 
handsomely  barred  or  watered  with  dark  brown  in  an 
irregular  manner,  somewhat  as  above,  the  bars  on  op- 
posite sides  of  the  midrib  alternating  in  an  agreeable 


144    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

manner.  Such  natural  objects  have  suggested  the  "  wa- 
tered "  figures  or  colors  in  the  arts.  Few  mortals  ever  look 
down  on  the  tail-coverts  of  a  young  hen-hawk,  yet  these 
are  not  only  beautiful,  but  of  a  peculiar  beauty,  being 


differently  marked  and  colored  (to  judge  from  Wilson's 
account  of  the  old)  from  those  of  the  old  bird.  Thus  she 
finishes  her  works  above  men's  sight. 

Jan.  12, 1859.  Farmer  says  that  he  saw  what  he  calls 
the  common  hen-hawk,  one  soaring  high  with  apj^arently 
a  chicken  in  its  claws,  while  a  young  hawk  circled  be- 
neath, when  former  suddenly  let  drop  the  chicken,  but 
the  young  failing  to  catch,  he  shot  down  like  lightning 
and  caught  and  bore  off  the  falling  chicken  before  it 
reached  the  earth. 

Fch.  16, 1859.  The  hen-hawk  and  the  pine  are  friends. 
The  same  thing  which  keeps  the  hen-hawk  in  the  woods, 
away  from  the  cities,  keeps  me  here.  That  bird  settles 
with  confidence  on  a  white  pine  top  and  not  upon  your 
weathercock.  That  bird  will  not  be  poultry  of  yours, 
lays  no  eggs  for  you,  forever  hides  its  nest.  Though 
willed,  or  wild.,  it  is  not  willful  in  its  wildness.  The  un- 


HEN-HAWKS  145 

sympathizing  man  regards  the  wildness  of  some  animals, 
their  strangeness  to  him,  as  a  sin ;  as  if  all  their  virtue 
consisted  in  their  tamableness.  He  has  always  a  charge 
in  his  gun  ready  for  their  extermination.  What  we  call 
wildness  is  a  civilization  other  than  our  own.  The  hen- 
hawk  shuns  the  farmer,  but  it  seeks  the  friendly  shelter 
and  support  of  the  pine.  It  will  not  consent  to  walk  in 
the  barn-yard,  but  it  loves  to  soar  above  the  clouds.  It 
has  its  own  way  and  is  beautiful,  when  we  would  fain 
subject  it  to  our  will.  So  any  surpassing  work  of  art  is 
strange  and  wild  to  the  mass  of  men,  as  is  genius  itself. 
No  hawk  that  soars  and  steals  our  poultry  is  wilder  than 
genius,  and  none  is  more  persecuted  or  above  persecu- 
tion. It  can  never  be  poet  laureate,  to  say  "  Pretty  Poll " 
and  "  Polly  want  a  cracker." 

March  15,  1860.  A  hen-hawk  sails  away  from  the 
wood  southward.  I  get  a  very  fair  sight  of  it  sailing 
overhead.  What  a  perfectly  regular  and  neat  outline  it 
presents !  an  easily  recognized  figure  anywhere.  Yet  I 
never  see  it  represented  in  any  books.  The  exact  cor- 
respondence of  the  marks  on  one  side  to  those  on  the 
other,  as  the  black  or  dark  tip  of  one  wing  to  the  other, 
and  the  dark  line  midway  the  wing.  I  have  no  idea  that 
one  can  get  as  correct  an  idea  of  the  form  and  color  of 
the  under  sides  of  a  hen-hawk's  wings  by  spreading 
those  of  a  dead  specimen  in  his  study  as  by  looking  up 
at  a  free  and  living  hawk  soaring  above  him  in  the 
fields.  The  penalty  for  obtaining  a  petty  knowledge  thus 
dishonestly  is  that  it  is  less  interesting  to  men  generally, 
as  it  is  less  significant.  Some,  seeing  and  admiring  the 
neat  figure  of  the  hawk  sailing  two  or  three  hundred 


146     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

feet  above  their  heads,  wish  to  get  nearer  and  hold  it 
in  their  hands,  perchance,  not  realizing  that  they  can 
see  it  best  at  this  distance,  better  now,  perhaps,  than 
ever  they  will  again.  What  is  an  eagle  in  captivity, 
screaming  in  a  courtyard?  I  am  not  the  wiser  respect- 
ing eagles  for  having  seen  one  there.  I  do  not  wish  to 
know  the  length  of  its  entrails. 

How  neat  and  all  compact  this  hawk  !  Its  wings  and 
body  are  all  one  piece,  the  wings  apparently  the  greater 
part,  while  its  body  is  a  mere  fullness  or  protuberance 
between  its  wings,  an  inconspicuous  pouch  hung  there. 
It  suggests  no  insatiable  maw,  no  corpulence,  but  looks 
like  a  larger  moth,  with  little  body  in  proportion  to  its 
wings,  its  body  naturally  more  etherealized  as  it  soars 
higher. 

These  hawks,  as  usual,  begin  to  be  common  about  the 
first  of  March,  showing  that  they  were  returning  from 
their  winter  quarters. 

April  22,  1860.  See  now  hen-hawks,  a  pair,  soaring 
high  as  for  pleasure,  circling  ever  further  and  further 
away,  as  if  it  were  midsummer.  The  peculiar  flight  of 
a  hawk  thus  fetches  the  year  about.  I  do  not  see  it  soar 
in  this  serene  and  leisurely  manner  very  early  in  the 
season,  methinks. 

\_See  also  under  Crow,  p.  241;  General  and  Miscel- 
laneous, p.  408.] 

ROUGH-LEGGED   HAWK 

March  29,  1858.  As  I  sit  two  thirds  the  way  up  the 
sunny  side  of  the  pine  hill,  looking  over  the  meadows, 
which  are  now  almost  completely  bare,  the  crows,  by 


\ 


ROUGH-LEGGED   HAWK  147 

their  swift  flight  and  scolding,  reveal  to  me  some  large 
bird  of  prey  hovering  over  the  river.  I  perceive  by  its 
markings  and  size  that  it  cannot  be  a  hen-hawk,  and 
now  it  settles  on  the  topmost  branch, of  a  white  maple, 
bending  it  down.  Its  great  armed  and  feathered  legs 
dangle  heljjlessly  in  the  air  for  a  moment,  as  if  feeling 
for  the  perch,  while  its  body  is  tipping  this  way  and 
that.  It  sits  there  facing  me  some  forty  or  fifty  rods 
off,  pluming  itself  but  keeping  a  good  lookout.  At  this 
distance  and  in  this  light,  it  appears  to  have  a  rusty- 
brown  head  and  breast  and  is  white  beneath,  with  rusty 
leg-feathers  and  a  tail  black  beneath.  When  it  flies 
again  it  is  principally  black  varied  with  white,  regular 
light  spots  on  its  tail  and  wings  beneath,  but  chiefly 
a  conspicuous  white  space  on  the  forward  part  of  the 
back ;  also  some  of  the  upper  side  of  the  tail  or  tail- 
coverts  is  white.  It  has  broad,  ragged,  buzzard-like 
wings,  and  from  the  white  of  its  back,  as  well  as  the 
shape  and  shortness  of  its  wings  and  its  not  having  a 
gull-like  body,  I  think  it  must  be  an  eagle.'  It  lets  it- 
self down  with  its  legs  somewhat  helplessly  dangling, 
as  if  feeling  for  something  on  the  bare  meadow,  and 
then  gradually  flies  away,  soaring  and  circling  higher 
and  higher  until  lost  in  the  downy  clouds.  This  lofty 
soaring  is  at  least  a  grand  recreation,  as  if  it  were 

^  [Thoreau  was  evidently  thinking'  only  of  distinguishing'  the  bird 
from  the  fish  hawk  with  its  long  and  narrow  wings.  The  description 
answers  very  well  to  that  of  the  rough-legged  hawk,  the  only  New 
England  species  with  fully  feathered  legs  except  the  much  rarer  golden 
eagle,  which  lacks  the  white  markings  described.  Neither  of  the  eagles 
has  short  wings,  while  the  wings  of  the  rough-legged  hawk  are  notably 
broad  and  buzzard-like.] 


148     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

nourishing  sublime  ideas.  I  should  like  to  know  why  it 
soars  higher  and  higher  so,  whether  its  thoughts  are 
really  turned  to  earth,  for  it  seems  to  be  more  nobly  as 
well  as  highly  employed  than  the  laborers  ditching  in 
the  meadow  beneath  or  any  others  of  my  fellow-towns- 
men. 

BALD  EAGLE  ;  WHITE-HEADED  EAGLE 

April  8,  1854.  Saw  a  large  bird  sail  along  over  the 
edge  of  Wheeler's  cranberry  meadow  just  below  Fair 
Haven,  which  I  at  first  thought  a  gull,  but  with  my 
glass  found  it  was  a  hawk  and  had  a  perfectly  white 
head  and  tail  and  broad  or  blackish  wings.  It  sailed 
and  circled  along  over  the  low  cliff,  and  the  crows  dived 
at  it  in  the  field  of  my  glass,  and  I  saw  it  well,  both 
above  and  beneath,  as  it  turned,  and  then  it  passed  off 
to  hover  over  the  Cliffs  at  a  greater  height.  It  was  un- 
doubtedly a  white-headed  eagle.  It  was  to  the  eye  but 
a  large  hawk. 

A2)ril  23,  1854.  Saw  my  white-headed  eagle  again, 
first  at  the  same  place,  the  outlet  of  Fair  Haven  Pond. 
It  was  a  fine  sight,  he  is  mainly — i.  e.  his  wings  and 
body  —  so  black  against  the  sky,  and  they  contrast  so 
strongly  with  his  white  head  and  tail.  He  was  first  fly- 
ing low  over  the  water  ;  then  rose  gradually  and  circled 
westward  toward  White  Pond.  Lying  on  the  ground 
with  my  glass,  I  could  watch  him  very  easily,  and  by 
turns  he  gave  me  all  possible  views  of  himself.  When 
I  observed  him  edgewise  I  noticed  that  the  tips  of  his 
wings  curved  upward  slightly  the  more,  like  a  stereo- 
typed undulation.    He  rose  very  high  at  last,  till  I  al- 


BALD   EAGLE  149 

most  lost  hitn  in  the  clouds,  circling  or  rather  looping 
along  westward,  high  over  river  and  wood  and  farm, 
effectually  concealed  in  the  sky.  We  who  live  this  plod- 
ding life  here  below  never  know  how  many  eagles  fly 
over  us.  They  are  concealed  in  the  empyrean.  I  think 
I  have  got  the  worth  of  my  glass  now  that  it  has  re- 
vealed to  me  the  white-headed  eagle.*  Now  I  see  him 
edgewise  like  a  black  ripple  in  the  air,  his  white  head 
still  as  ever  turned  to  earth,  and  now  he  turns  his 
under  side  to  me,  and  I  behold  the  full  breadth  of  his 
broad  black  wings,  somewhat  ragged  at  the  edges. 

Aug.  22,  1858.  At  Baker  Farm  a  large  bird  rose  up 
near  us,  which  at  first  I  took  for  a  hen-hawk,  but  it 
appeared  larger.  It  screamed  the  same,  and  finally 
soared  higher  and  higher  till  it  was  almost  lost  amid 
the  clouds,  or  could  scarcely  be  distinguished  except 
when  it  was  seen  against  some  white  and  glowing  cu- 
mulus. I  think  it  was  at  least  half  a  mile  high,  or  three 
quarters,  and  yet  I  distinctly  heard  it  scream  up  there 
each  time  it  came  round,  and  with  my  glass  saw  its 
head  steadily  bent  toward  the  ground,  looking  for  its 
prey.  Its  head,  seen  in  a  proper  light,  was  distinctly 
whitish,  and  I  suspect  it  may  have  been  a  white-headed 
eagle.^  It  did  not  once  flap  its  wings  up  there,  as  it 
circled  and  sailed,  though  I  watched  it  for  nearly  a 
mile.  How  fit  that  these  soaring  birds  should  be  haughty 
and  fierce,  not  like  doves  to  our  race! 

Aug.  29, 1858.  Ah!  what  a  voice  was  that  hawk's  or 

1  [He  had  bought  a  spy-glass  a  few  weeks  before.] 

2  [The  eagle  is  so  very  much  larger  than  any  of  our  hawks  that  it 
seems  doubtful  if  this  bird  could  have  been  one.] 


150     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

eagle's  of  the  22d !  Think  of  hearing,  as  you  walk  the 
earth,  as  usual  in  leaden  shoes,  a  fine,  shrill  scream  from 
time  to  time,  which  you  would  vainly  endeavor  to  refer 
to  its  true  source  if  you  had  not  watched  the  bird  in  its 
upward  flight.  It  comes  from  yonder  black  spot  on  the 
bosom  of  a  cloud.  I  should  not  have  suspected  that 
sound  to  have  issued  from  the  bosom  of  a  cloud  if  I 
had  not  seen  the  bii*d.  What  motive  can  an  eagle  have 
for  screaming  among  the  clouds,  unobserved  by  ter- 
restrial creatures  ?  We  walk  invested  by  sound,  —  the 
cricket  in  the  grass  and  the  eagle  in  the  clouds.  And 
so  it  circled  over,  and  I  strained  my  eyes  to  follow  it, 
though  my  ears  heard  it  without  effort. 

l^See  also  under  Hen-hawks,  p.  146  ;  Fish  Hawk, 
p.  158 ;  Hawks,  p.  166  ;  Junco,  p.  303 ;  General  and 
Miscellaneous,  pp.  418,  427 ;  and  for  birds  mistakenl3^ 
supposed  to  be  eagles  see  under  Rough-legged  Hawk, 
pp.  146-148,  and  Fish  Hawk,  p.  151.] 

SPARROW   HAWK 

Sept.  24,  1851.  A  spai-row  hawk,^  hardly  so  big  as 
a  nighthawk,  flew  over  high  above  my  head,  —  a  pretty 
little  graceful  fellow,  too  small  and  delicate  to  be  ra- 
pacious. 

FISH    HAWK 

March  27,  1842.  Cliffs.  — Two  little  hawks  have 
just  come  out  to  play,  like  butterflies  rising  one  above 

^  [Thoreau  at  this  time  had  made  but  little  acquaintance  with  the 
hawks,  and  this  bird  was  probably  not  very  exactly  identified  as  to 
species.] 


FISH  HAWK  151 

the  other  in  endless  alternation  far  below  me.  They 
swoop  from  side  to  side  in  the  broad  basin  of  the  tree- 
tops,  with  wider  and  wider  surges,  as  if  swung  by  an 
invisible  pendulum.  They  stoop  down  on  this  side  and 
scale  up  on  that. 

Suddenly  I  look  up  and  see  a  new  bird,  probably  an 
eagle,  quite  above  me,  laboring  with  the  wind  not  more 
than  forty  rods  off.  It  was  the  largest  bird  of  the  falcon 
kind  I  ever  saw.  I  was  never  so  impressed  by  any  flight. 
She  sailed  the  air,  and  fell  back  from  time  to  time  like 
a  ship  on  her  beam  ends,  holding  her  talons  up  as  if 
ready  for  the  arrows.  I  never  allowed  before  for  the 
grotesque  attitudes  of  our  national  bird.^ 

The  eagle  must  have  an  educated  eye. 

March  31,  1842.  I  cannot  forget  the  majesty  of  that 
bird  at  the  Cliff.  It  was  no  sloop  or  smaller  craft  hove 
in  sight,  but  a  ship  of  the  line,  worthy  to  struggle  with 
the  elements.  It  was  a  great  presence,  as  of  the  master 
of  river  and  forest.  His  eye  would  not  have  quailed 
before  the  owner  of  the  soil;  none  could  challenge  his 
rights.  And  then  his  retreat,  sailing  so  steadily  away, 
was  a  kind  of  advance.  How  is  it  that  man  always  feels 
like  an  interloper  in  nature,  as  if  he  had  intruded  on 
the  domains  of  bird  and  beast  ?  ^ 

April  14,  1852.  A  fish  hawk  is  calmly  sailing  over 
all,  looking  for  his  prey.  The  gulls  are  all  gone  now, 
though  the  water  is  high,  but  I  can  see  the  motions  of 

^  [See  the  next  note.] 

^  [This  bird  appears  to  have  been  a  fish  hawk,  not  an  eagle-  At 
least  in  his  paper  on  the  "  Natural  History  of  Massachusetts,"  included 
in  Excursions,  Thorean  uses  the  same  terms  in  writing  of  the  fish  hawk.] 


152     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

a  muskrat  on  the  calm  sunny  surface  a  great  way  off. 
So  perfectly  calm  and  beautiful,  and  yet  no  man  look- 
ing at  it  this  morning  but  myself.  It  is  pleasant  to  see 
the  zephyrs  strike  the  smooth  surface  of  the  pond  from 
time  to  time,  and  a  darker  shade  ripple  over  it. 

The  streams  break  up;  the  ice  goes  to  the  sea.  Then 
sails  the  fish  hawk  overhead,  looking  for  his  prey. 

Oct.  22,  1852.  When  I  approached  the  pond  *  over 
Heywood's  Peak,  I  disturbed  a  hawk  (a  fish  hawk?)  on 
a  white  pine  by  the  water  watching  for  his  prey,  with 
long,  narrow,  sharp  wings  and  a  white  belly.  He  flew 
slowly  across  the  pond  somewhat  like  a  gull.  He  is  the 
more  picturesque  object  against  the  woods  or  water  for 
being  white  beneath. 

Nov.  17,  1854.  I  think  it  must  have  been  a  fish  hawk 
which  I  saw  hovering  over  the  meadow  and  my  boat  (a 
raw  cloudy  afternoon),  now  and  then  sustaining  itself 
in  one  place  a  hundred  feet  or  more  above  the  water, 
intent  on  a  fish,  with  a  hovering  or  fluttering  motion  of 
the  wings  somewhat  like  a  kingfisher.  Its  wings  were 
very  long,  slender,  and  curved  in  outline  of  front  edge. 
I  think  there  was  some  white  on  rump.  It  alighted  near 
the  top  of  an  oak  within  rifle-shot  of  me  and  my  boat, 
afterward  on  the  tip-top  of  a  maple  by  waterside,  look- 
ing very  large. 

Apmll5,  1855.  The  Great  Meadows  are  covered,  ex- 
cept a  small  island  in  their  midst,  but  not  a  duck  do 
we  see  there.  On  a  low  limb  of  a  maple  on  the  edge  of 
the  river,  thirty  rods  from  the  present  shore,  we  saw  a 
fish  hawk  eating  a  fish.  Sixty  rods  off  we  could  see  his 

1  [Walden  Pond.] 


FISH  HAWK  153 

white  crest.  We  landed,  and  got  nearer  by  stealing 
through  the  woods.  His  legs  looked  long  as  he  stood 
up  on  the  limb  with  his  back  to  us,  and  his  body  looked 
black  against  the  sky  and  by  contrast  with  the  wliite 
of  his  head.  There  was  a  dark  stripe  on  the  side  of  the 
head.  He  had  got  the  fish  under  his  feet  on  the  limb, 
and  would  bow  his  head,  snatch  a  mouthful,  and  then 
look  hastily  over  his  right  shoulder  in  our  direction, 
then  snatch  another  mouthful  and  look  over  his  left 
shoulder.  At  length  he  launched  off  and  flapped  heavily 
away.  We  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  water  beneath 
where  he  sat  numerous  fragments  of  the  fish  he  had 
been  eating,  parts  of  the  fins,  entrails,  gills,  etc.,  and 
some  was  dropped  on  the  bough.  From  one  fin  which 
I  examined,  I  judged  that  it  was  either  a  sucker  or  a 
pout.   There  were  small  leeches  adhering  to  it. 

In  the  meanwhile,  as  we  were  stealing  through  the 
woods,  we  heard  the  pleasing  note  of  the  pine  warbler, 
bringing  back  warmer  weather,  and  we  heard  one  honk 
of  a  goose,  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  large  narrow  har- 
row of  them  steering  northeast.  Half  a  mile  further  we 
saw  another  fish  hawk,  upon  a  dead  limb  midway  up  a 
swamp  white  oak  over  the  water,  at  the  end  of  a  small 
island.  We  paddled  directly  toward  him  till  within 
thirty  rod^.  A  crow  came  scolding  to  the  tree  and  lit 
within  three  feet,  looking  about  as  large,  compared 
with  the  hawk,  as  a  crow  blackbird  to  a  crow,  but  he 
paid  no  attention  to  him.  We  had  a  very  good  view 
of  him,  as  he  sat  sideways  to  us,  and  of  his  eagle-shaped 
head  and  beak.  The  white  feathers  of  his  head,  which 
were  erected  somewhat,  made  him  look  like  a  copple- 


154     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

crowned  hen.  When  he  launched  off,  he  uttered  a 
clear  whistling  note, — iiilie  jihe^  phe  phe,  phe  phe^  — 
somewhat  like  that  of  a  telltale,  but  more  round  and 
less  shrill  and  rapid,  and  another,  perhaps  his  mate, 
fifty  rods  off,  joined  him.  They  flew  heavily,  as  we 
looked  at  them  from  behind,  more  like  a  blue  heron 
and  bittern  than  I  was  aware  of,  their  long  wings  un- 
dulating slowly  to  the  tip,  like  the  heron's,  and  the 
bodies  seeming  sharp  like  a  gull's  and  unlike  a  hawk's. 

In  the  water  beneath  where  he  was  perched,  we  found 
many  fragments  of  a  pout,  —  bits  of  red  gills,  entrails, 
fins,  and  some  of  the  long  flexible  black  feelers, — 
scattered  for  four  or  five  feet.  This  pout  appeared  to 
have  been  quite  fresh,  and  was  probably  caught  alive. 
We  afterward  started  one  of  them  from  an  oak  over 
the  water  a  mile  beyond,  just  above  the  boat-house, 
and  he  skimmed  off  very  low  over  the  water,  several 
times  striking  it  with  a  loud  sound  heard  plainly  sixty 
rods  off  at  least;  and  we  followed  him  with  our  eyes 
till  we  could  only  see  faintly  his  undulating  wings 
against  the  sky  in  the  western  horizon.  You  could  prob- 
ably tell  if  any  were  about  by  looking  for  fragments  of 
fish  under  the  trees  on  which  they  would  perch. 

May  12,  1855.  From  beyond  the  orchard  saw  a  large 
bird  far  over  the  Cliff  Hill,  which,  with  my  glass,  I 
soon  made  out  to  be  a  fish  hawk  advancing.  Even  at 
that  distance,  half  a  mile  off,  I  distinguished  its  gull- 
like body,  —  pirate-like  fishing  body  fit  to  dive,  —  and 
that  its  wings  did  not  curve  upward  at  the  ends  like  a 
hen-hawk's  (at  least  I  could  not  see  that  they  did),  but 
rather  hung  down.  It  came  on  steadily,  bent  on  fishing, 


FISH  HAWK  155 

with  long  and  heavy  undulating  wings,  with  an  easy, 
sauntering  flight,  over  the  river  to  the  pond,  and  hov- 
ered over  Pleasant  Meadow  a  long  time,  hovering  from 
time  to  time  in  one  spot,  when  more  than  a  hundred 
feet  high,  then  making  a  very  short  circle  or  two  and 
hovering  again,  then  sauntering  off  against  the  wood- 
side.  At  length  he  reappeared,  passed  downward  over 
the  shrub  oak  plain  and  alighted  on  an  oak  (of  course 
now  bare),  standing  this  time  apparently  lengthwise 
on  the  limb.  Soon  took  to  wing  again  and  went  to  fish- 
ing down  the  stream  a  hundred  feet  high.  When  just 
below  Bittern  Cliff,  I  observed  by  its  motions  that  it 
observed  something.  It  made  a  broad  circle  of  observa- 
tion in  its  course,  lowering  itself  somewhat ;  then,  by 
one  or  two  steep  sidewise  flights,  it  reached  the  water, 
and,  as  near  as  intervening  trees  would  let  mo  see, 
skimmed  over  it  and  endeavored  to  clutch  its  prey  in 
passing.  It  failed  the  first  time,  but  probably  succeeded 
the  second.  Then  it  leisurely  winged  its  way  to  a  tall 
bare  tree  on  the  east  side  of  the  Cliffs,  and  there  we  left 
it  apparently  pluming  itself.  It  had  a  very  white  belly, 
and  indeed  appeared  all  white  beneath  its  body.  I  saw 
broad  black  lines  between  the  white  crown  and  throat. 

Returning  over  Conantum,  I  directed  my  glass  toward 
the  dead  tree  on  Cliffs,  and  was  surprised  to  see  the 
fish  hawk  still  sitting  there,  about  an  hour  after  he  first 
alighted  ;  and  now  I  found  that  he  was  eating  a  fish, 
which  he  had  under  his  feet  on  the  limb  and  ate  as  I 
have  already  described.  At  this  distance  his  whole  head 
looked  white  with  his  breast. 


156     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

May  14,  1855.  Under  the  dead  pine  on  which  the 
fish  hawk  sat  on  the  12th  inst.^  a  half-mile  from  the 
river,  I  find  a  few  fish  bones  —  one,  I  am  pretty  sure 
from  comparison,  the  jaw  of  a  pout.  So  that  in  three 
instances,  the  only  ones  observed  this  year,  they  were 
feeding  on  pouts.  Probably  the  mice,  etc.,  had  picked 
up  the  rest  of  his  droppings.  Thus  these  inhabitants 
of  the  interior  get  a  taste  of  fish  from  time  to  time,  — 
crumbs  from  the  fish  hawk's  table. 

April  6,  1856.  As  I  am  going  along  the  Corner  road 
by  the  meadow  mouse  brook,  hear  and  see,  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  northwest,  on  those  conspicuous  white  oaks  near 
the  river  in  Hubbard's  second  grove,  the  crows  buffet- 
ing some  intruder.  The  crows  had  betrayed  to  me  some 
large  bird  of  the  hawk  kind  which  they  were  buffeting. 
I  suspected  it  before  I  looked  carefully.  I  saw  several 
crows  on  the  oaks,  and  also  what  looked  to  my  naked 
eye  like  a  cluster  of  the  palest  and  most  withered  oak 
leaves  with  a  black  base  about  as  big  as  a  crow.  Look- 
ing with  my  glass,  I  saw  that  it  was  a  great  bird.  The 
crows  sat  about  a  rod  off,  higher  up,  while  another 
crow  was  occasionally  diving  at  him,  and  all  were  caw- 
ing. The  great  bird  was  just  starting.  It  was  chiefly  a 
dirty  white  with  great  broad  wings  with  black  tips  and 
black  on  other  parts,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  dirty 
white,  barred  with  black.  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was 
a  white-headed  eagle  or  a  fish  hawk.  There  appeared 
much  more  white  than  belongs  to  either,  and  more 
black  than  the  fish  hawk  has.  It  rose  and  wheeled, 
flapping  several  times,  till  it  got  under  way ;  then,  with 
its  rear  to  me,  presenting  the  least  surface,  it  moved 


FISH  HAWK  157 

off  steadily  in  its  orbit  over  the  woods  northwest,  with 
the  slightest  possible  undulation  of  its  wings, — a  noble 
planetary  motion,  like  Saturn  with  its  ring  seen  edge- 
wise. It  is  so  rare  that  we  see  a  large  body  self-sus- 
tained in  the  air.  While  crows  sat  still  and  silent  and 
confessed  their  lord.  Through  my  glass  I  saw  the  out- 
lines of  this  sphere  against  the  sky,  trembling  with  life 
and  power  as  it  skimmed  the  topmost  twigs  of  the  wood 
toward  some  more  solitary  oak  amid  the  meadows.  To 
my  naked  eye  it  showed  only  so  much  black  as  a  crow 
in  its  talons  might.  Was  it  not  the  white-headed  eagle 
in  the  state  when  it  is  called  the  sea  eagle  ?  ^  Perhaps 
its  neck-feathers  were  erected. 

April  14,  1856.  See  from  my  window  a  fish  hawk 
flying  high  west  of  the  house,  cutting  off  the  bend  be- 
tween Willow  Bay  and  the  meadow,  in  front  of  the 
house,  between  one  vernal  lake  and  another.  He  sud- 
denly wheels  and,  straightening  out  his  long,  narrow 
wings,  makes  one  circle  high  above  the  last  meadow,  as 
if  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fish  beneath,  and  then 
continues  his  course  down  the  river. 

P.  M.  —  Sail  to  hill  by  Bedford  line. 

Wind  southwest  and  pretty  strong;  sky  overcast; 
weather  cool.  Start  up  a  fish  hawk  from  near  the  swamp 
white  oaks  southwest  of  the  Island,  undoubtedly  the 
one  of  the  morning.  I  now  see  that  this  is  a  much 
darker  bird,  both  above  and  beneath,  than  that  bird  of 
the  6th.  It  flies  quite  low,  surveying  the  water,  in  an 
undulating,  buoyant   manner,  like  a  marsh  hawk,  or 

^  [Wilson,  in  his  American  Ornithology,  gave  an  account  of  the  "  sea 
eagle,"  which  he  suspected  to  be  the  young  of  the  bald  eagle.] 


158    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

still  more  a  nighthawk,  with  its  long  curved  wings.  He 
flies  so  low  westward  that  I  lose  sight  of  him  against 
the  dark  hillside  and  trees. 

April  16,  1856.  As  I  walk  along  the  bank  of  the 
Assabet,  I  hear  the  yeep  yeep  yeep  yeeep  yeeep  yeep,  or 
perhaps  peop,  of  a  fish  hawk,  repeated  qnite  fast,  but 
not  so  shrill  and  whistling  as  I  think  I  have  heard  it, 
and  directly  I  see  his  long  curved  wings  undulating 
over  Pinxter  Swamp,  now  flooded. 

Aug.  25,  1856.  I  cross  the  meadows  in  the  face  of 
a  thunder-storm  rising  very  dark  in  the  north.  There 
were  several  boats  out,  but  their  crews  soon  retreated 
homeward  before  the  approaching  storm.  It  came  on 
rapidly,  with  vivid  lightning  striking  the  northern 
earth  and  heavy  thunder  following.  Just  before,  and 
in  the  shadow  of,  the  cloud,  I  saw,  advancing  majesti- 
cally with  wide  circles  over  the  meadowy  flood,  a  fish 
hawk  and,  apparently,  a  black  eagle  (maybe  a  young 
white-head).  The  first,  with  slender  curved  wings  and 
silvery  breast,  four  or  five  hundred  feet  high,  watching 
the  water  while  he  circled  slowly  southwesterly.  What 
a  vision  that  could  detect  a  fish  at  that  distance !  The 
latter,  with  broad  black  wings  and  broad  tail,  thus: 

O  hovered  only  about  one  hundred  feet  high  ;  evi- 
dently a  different  species,  and  what  else  but  an 
eagle?  They  soon  disappeared  southwest,  cut- 
ting off  a  bend.  The  thunder-shower  passed  off  to  the 
southeast. 

Oct.  26,  1857.  A  storm  is  a  new,  and  in  some  re- 
spects more  active,  life  in  nature.  Larger  migrating 
birds  make  their  appearance.    They,  at  least,  sympa- 


FISH  HAWK  159 

thize  with  the  movements  of  the  watery  element  and 
the  winds.  I  see  two  great  fish  hawks  (^possibly  bhie 
herons)  slowly  beating  northeast  against  the  storm,  by 
what  a  curious  tie  circling  ever  near  each  other  and  in 
the  same  direction,  as  if  you  might  expect  to  find  the 
very  motes  in  the  air  to  be  paired ;  two  long  undulating 
wings  conveying  a  feathered  body  through  the  misty 
atmosphere,  and  this  inseparably  associated  with  an- 
other planet  of  the  same  species.  I  can  just  glimpse 
their  undulating  lines.  Damon  and  Pythias  they  must 
be.  The  waves  beneath,  which  are  of  kindred  form,  are 
still  more  social,  multitudinous,  dvrjpiOfxov.  Where  is  my 
mate,  beating  against  the  storm  with  me?  They  fly 
according  to  the  valley  of  the  river,  northeast  or  south- 
west. 

I  start  up  snipes  also  at  Clamshell  Meadow.  This 
weather  sets  the  migratory  birds  in  motion  and  also 
makes  them  bolder. 

April  25,  1858.  P.  M.  —  To  Assabet. 

Approaching  the  Island,  I  hear  the  phe  phe,phe  phe., 
phe  phe,  phe  jjhe,  phe,  the  sharp  whistling  note,  of  a 
fish  hawk,  and,  looking  round,  see  him  just  afterward 
launching  away  from  one  of  the  swamp  white  oaks 
southwest  of  the  Island.  There  is  about  half  a  second 
between  each  note,  and  he  utters  them  either  while 
perched  or  while  flying.  He  shows  a  great  proportion 
of  wing  and  some  white  on  back.  The  wings  are 
much  curved.  He  sails  along  some  eighty  feet  above 
the  water's  edge,  looking  for  fish,  and  alights  again 
quite  near.  I  see  him  an  hour  afterward  about  the 
same  spot. 


160     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

April  28,  1858.  I  see  the  fish  hawk  again  [two  or 
three  indecipherable  words]  Island.  As  it  flies  low, 
directly  over  my  head,  I  see  that  its  body  is  white 
beneath,  and  the  white  on  the  forward  side  of  the 
wings  beneath,  if  extended  across  the  breast,  would 
form  a  regular  crescent.  Its  wings  do  not  form  a  reg- 
ular curve  in  front,  but 
an  abrupt  angle.   They  are 


.^^^^-—  I     \^^  loose    and    broad    at    tips. 

^"^                    \K                  ^-^_   1  his  bird  goes  lishmg 
«•^  ^=P^z.  „i i„  J „:j„ 


!^~  slowly  down  one  side 
of  the  river  and  up  again  on  the  other,  forty  to  sixty 
feet  high,  continually  poising  itself  almost  or  quite 
stationary,  with  its  head  to  the  northwest  wind  and 
looking  down,  flapping  its  wangs  enough  to  keep  its 
place,  sometimes  stationary  for  about  a  minute.  It 
is  not  shy.  This  boisterous  weather  is  the  time  to 
see  it. 

May  1,  1858.  Suddenly  a  large  hawk  sailed  over 
from  the  Assabet,  which  at  first  I  took  for  a  hen-har- 
rier, it  was  so  neat  a  bird  and  apparently  not  very 
large.  It  was  a  fish  hawk,  with  a  very  conspicuous 
white  crown  or  head  and  a  uniform  brown  above  else- 
where ;  beneath  white,  breast  and  belly.  Probably  it 
was  the  male,  which  is  the  smaller  and  whiter  beneath. 
A  wedge-shaped  tail.  He  alighted  on  a  dead  elm  limb 
on  Prichard's  ground,  and  at  this  distance,  with  my 
glass,  I  could  see  some  dark  of  head  above  the  white  of 
throat  or  breast.  He  was  incessantly  looking  about  as 
if  on  his  guard.  After  fifteen  minutes  came  a  crow 
from  the  Assabet  and  alighted  cawing,  about  twenty 


FISH  HAWK  161 

rods  from  him,  and  ten  minutes  later  another.  How 
alert  they  are  to  detect  these  great  birds  of  prey ! 
They  do  not  thus  pursue  ordinary  hawks,  and  their 
attendance  alone  might  suggest  to  unskillful  observers 
the  presence  of  a  fish  hawk  or  eagle.  Some  crows  up 
the  Assabet  evidently  knew  that  he  was  sitting  on  that 
elm  far  away.  He  sailed  low  almost  directly  over  my 
boat,  fishing.  His  wings  had  not  obviously  that  angular 
form  which  I  thought  those  of  another  had  the  other 
day. 

April  7, 1859.  Standing  under  the  north  side  of  the 
hill,  I  hear  the  rather  innocent  phe  phe,  phe  phe,  phe 
phe,  phe'  of  a  fish  hawk  (for  it  is  not  a  scream,  but  a 
rather  soft  and  innocent  note),  and,  looking  up,  see 
one  come  sailing  from  over  the  hill.  The  body  looks 
quite  short  in  proportion  to  the  spread  of  the  wings, 
which  are  quite  dark  or  blackish  above.  He  evidently 
has  something  in  his  talons.  We  soon  after  disturb 
him  again,  and,  at  length,  after  circling  around  over 
the  hill  and  adjacent  fields,  he  alights  in  plain  sight  on 
one  of  the  half-dead  white  oaks  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
where  probably  he  sat  before.  As  I  look  through  my 
glass,  he  is  perched  on  a  large  dead  limb  and  is  evi- 
dently standing  on  a  fish  (I  had  noticed  something  in 
his  talons  as  he  flew),  for  he  stands  high  and  uneasily, 
finding  it  hard  to  keep  his  balance  in  the  wind.  He  is 
disturbed  by  our  neighborhood  and  does  not  proceed  at 
once  to  eat  his  meal.  I  see  the  tail  of  the  fish  hanging 
over  the  end  of  the  limb.  Now  and  then  he  pecks  at  it. 
I  see  the  white  on  the  crown  of  the  hawk.  It  is  a  very 
large  black  bird  as  seen  against  the  sky.  Soon  he  sails 


162     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

away  again,  carrying  his  fish,  as  before,  horizontally 
beneath  his  body,  and  he  circles  about  over  the  adja- 
cent pasture  like  a  hawk  hunting,  though  he  can  only 
be  looking  for  a  suitable  place  to  eat  his  fish  or  waiting 
for  us  to  be  gone. 

Looking  under  the  limb  on  which  he  was  perched, 
we  find  a  piece  of  the  skin  of  a  sucker  (?)  or  some 
other  scaly  fish  which  a  hawk  had  dropped  there  long 
since.  No  doubt  many  a  fish  hawk  has  taken  his  meal 
on  that  sightly  perch. 

It  seems,  then,  that  the  fish  hawk  which  you  see 
soaring  and  sailing  so  leisurely  about  over  the  land  — 
for  this  one  soared  quite  high  into  the  sky  at  one  time 
—  may  have  a  fish  in  his  talons  all  the  while  and  only 
be  waiting  till  you  are  gone  for  an  opportunity  to  eat  it 
on  his  accustomed  perch. 

Oct.  5,  1860.  I  see  a  fish  hawk,  skimming  low  over 
it,^  suddenly  dive  or  stoop  for  one  of  those  little  fishes 
that  rise  to  the  surface  so  abundantly  at  this  season. 
He  then  sits  on  a  bare  limb  over  the  water,  ready  to 
swoop  down  again  on  his  finny  prey,  presenting,  as  he 
sits  erect,  a  long  white  breast  and  belly  and  a  white 
head.  No  doubt  he  well  knows  the  habits  of  these  little 
fishes  which  dimple  the  surface  of  Walden  at  this  sea- 
son, and  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  better  fishing-ground 
for  him  to  resort  to.  He  can  easily  find  a  perch  over- 
looking the  lake  and  discern  his  prey  in  the  clear 
water. 

[/See  also  under  Great  Blue  Heron,  p.  79;  General 
and  Miscellaneous,  p.  418.  J 

1   [Walden  Pond.] 


HAWKS  1G3 

HAWKS    (species   UNNAMED) 

Sept.  25,  1851.  In  these  cooler,  windier,  crystal  days 
the  note  of  the  jay  sounds  a  little  more  native.  Stand- 
ing on  the  Cliffs,  I  see  them  flitting  and  screaming  from 
pine  to  pine  beneath,  displaying  their  gaudy  blue  pin- 
ions. Hawks,  too,  I  perceive,  sailing  about  in  the  clear 
air,  looking  white  against  the  green  pines,  like  the  seeds 
of  the  milkweed.  There  is  almost  always  a  pair  of 
hawks.  Their  shrill  scream,  that  of  the  owls,  and  wolves 
ai-e  all  related. 

Oct.  9,  1851.  The  circling  hawk  steers  himself 
through  the  air  like  the  skater,  without  a  visible  mo- 
tion. 

Dec.  20,  1851.  Saw  a  large  hawk  circling  over  a  pine 
wood  below  me,  and  screaming,  apparently  that  he  might 
discover  his  prey  by  their  flight.  Travelling  ever  by 
wider  circles.  What  a  symbol  of  the  thoughts,  now  soar- 
ing, now  descending,  taking  larger  and  larger  circles, 
or  smaller  and  smaller!  It  flies  not  directly  whither  it 
is  bound,  but  advances  by  circles,  like  a  courtier  of  the 
skies.  No  such  noble  progress  !  How  it  comes  round,  as 
with  a  wider  sweep  of  thought !  But  the  majesty  is  in 
the  imagination  of  the  beholder,  for  the  bird  is  intent 
on  its  prey.  Circling  and  ever  circling,  you  cannot 
divine  which  way  it  will  incline,  till  perchance  it  dives 
down  straight  as  an  arrow  to  its  mark.  It  rises  higlier 
above  where  I  stand,  and  I  see  with  beautiful  distinct- 
ness its  wings  against  the  sky,  —  primaries  and  second- 
aries, and  the  rich  tracery  of  the  outline  of  the  latter  (?), 
its  inner   wings,  or  wing-linings,  within  the  outer, — 


164     NOTES   ON   NE-W   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

like  a  great  moth  seen  against  the  sky,  A  will-o'-the- 
wind.  Following  its  path,  as  it  were,  through  the  vortices 
of  the  air.  The  poetry  of  motion.  Not  as  preferring  one 
place  to  another,  but  enjoying  each  as  long  as  possible. 
Most  gracefully  so  surveys  new  scenes  and  revisits  the 
old.  As  if  that  hawk  were  made  to  be  the  symbol  of  my 
thought,  how  bravely  he  came  round  over  those  parts  of 
the  wood  which  he  had  not  surveyed,  taking  in  a  new 
segment,  annexing  new  territories  !  Without  "  heave- 
yo  !  "  it  trims  its  sail.  It  goes  about  without  the  creak- 
ing of  a  block.  That  America  yacht  of  the  air  that 
never  makes  a  tack,  though  it  rounds  the  globe  itself, 
takes  in  and  shakes  out  its  reefs  without  a  flutter,  —  its 
sky-scrapers  all  under  its  control.  Holds  up  one  wing, 
as  if  to  admire,  and  sweeps  off  this  way,  then  holds  up 
the  other  and  sweeps  that.  If  there  are  two  concentri- 
cally circling,  it  is  such  a  regatta  as  Southauipton  wa- 
ters never  witnessed.* 

Flights  of  imagination,  Coleridgean  thoughts.  So  a 
man  is  said  to  soar  in  his  thought,  ever  to  fresh  woods 
and  pastures  new.  Rises  as  in  thought. 

What  made  the  hawk  mount  ?  Did  you  perceive  the 
manoeuvre  ?  Did  he  fill  himself  with  air  ?  Before  you 
were  aware  of  it,  he  had  mounted  by  his  spiral  path  into 
the  heavens. 

April  22, 1852.  Saw  four  hawks  soaring  high  in  the 
heavens  over  the  Swamp  Bridge  Brook.  At  first  saw 
three  ;  said  to  myself  there  must  be  four,  and  found  the 

^  [The  yacht  America  had  in  the  preceding  August  won  her  famous 
cup  in  a  race  round  the  Isle  of  Wight.] 


HAWKS  165 

fourth.  Glad  are  they,  no  doubt,  to  be  out  after  being 
confined  by  the  storm. 

April  29,  1852.  I  discover  a  hawk  over  my  head  by 
his  shadow  on  the  ground  ;  also  small  birds. 

t/une  15,  1852.  I  hear  the  scream  of  a  gi*eat  hawk, 
sailing  with  a  ragged  wing  against  the  high  wood-side, 
apparently  to  scare  his  prey  and  so  detect  it,  —  shrill, 
harsh,  fitted  to  excite  terror  in  sparrows  and  to  issue 
from  his  split  and  curved  bill.  I  see  his  open  bill  the 
while  against  the  sky.  Spit  with  force  from  his  mouth 
with  an  undulatory  quaver  imparted  to  it  from  his  wings 
or  motion  as  he  flies.  A  hawk's  ragged  wing  will  grow 
whole  again,  but  so  will  not  a  poet's. 

Aiifjf.  31,  1852.  I  saw  a  small  hawk  fly  along  under 
the  hillside  and  alight  on  the  ground,  its  breast  and 
belly  pure  downy  white.  It  was  a  very  handsome  bird. 
Though  they  are  not  fitted  to  walk  much  on  the  ground, 
but  to  soar,  yet  its  feet,  which  are  but  claws  to  seize  its 
prey  and  hold  to  its  perch,  are  handsome  appendages, 
and  it  is  a  very  interesting  sight  on  the  ground.  Yet 
there  is  a  certain  unfitness  in  so  fair  a  breast,  so  pure 
white,  made  to  breast  nothing  less  pure  than  the  sky  or 
clouds,  coming  so  nearly  in  contact  with  the  earth.  Never 
bespattered  with  the  mud  of  earth.  That  was  the  im- 
pression made  on  me,  —  of  a  very  pure  breast,  accus- 
tomed to  float  on  the  sky,  in  contact  with  the  earth.  It 
stood  quite  still,  watching  me,  as  if  it  was  not  easy  for 
it  to  walk. 

Sept.  16,  1852.  What  makes  this  such  a  day  for 
hawks  ?  There  are  eight  or  ten  in  sight  from  the  Cliffs, 
large  and  small,  one  or  more  with  a  white  rump.  I  de- 


166     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

tected  the  transit  of  the  first  by  his  shadow  on  the  rock, 
and  I  look  toward  the  sun  for  him.  Though  he  is  made 
light  beneath  to  conceal  him,  his  shadow  betrays  him. 
A  hawk  must  get  out  of  the  wood,  must  get  above  it, 
where  he  can  sail.  It  is  narrow  dodging  for  him  amid 
the  boughs.  He  cannot  be  a  hawk  there,  but  only  perch 
gloomily.  Now  I  see  a  large  one  —  perchance  an  eagle, 
I  say  to  myself !  —  down  in  the  valley,  circling  and  cir- 
cling, higher  and  wider.  This  way  he  comes.  How  beau- 
tiful does  he  repose  on  the  air,  in  the  moment  when 
he  is  directly  over  you,  and  you  see  the  form  and  tex- 
ture of  his  wings !  How  light  he  must  make  himself, 
how  much  earthy  heaviness  expel,  before  he  can  thus 
soar  and  sail !  He  carries  no  useless  clogs  there  with 
him.  They  are  out  by  families  ;  while  one  is  circling 
this  way,  another  circles  that.  Kites  without  strings. 
Where  is  the  boy  that  flies  them  ?  Are  not  the  hawks 
most  observed  at  this  season  ? 

March  30,  1853.  The  motions  of  a  hawk  correcting 
the  flaws  in  the  wind  by  raising  his  shoulder  from  time 
to  time,  are  much  like  those  of  a  leaf  yielding  to  them. 
For  the  little  hawks  are  hunting  now.  You  have  not  to 
sit  long  on  the  Cliffs  before  you  see  one. 

March  2,  1855.  Heard  two  hawks  scream.  There 
was  something  truly  March-like  in  it,  like  a  prolonged 
blast  or  whistling  of  the  wind  through  a  crevice  in  the 
sky,  which,  like  a  cracked  blue  saucer,  overlaps  the 
woods.  Such  are  the  first  rude  notes  which  prelude 
the  summer's  quire,  learned  of  the  whistling  March 
wind. 

Oct.  22, 1855.  I  sat  on  a  bank  at  the  brook  crossing, 


HAWKS  167 

beyond  the  grove,  to  watch  a  flock  of  sen'w^os,*  perhaps 
Savannah  sparrows,  which, with  some  F.  hyemalis"^  ^indi. 
other  sparrows,  were  actively  flitting  about  amid  the 
alders  and  dogwood.  .  .  .  Suddenly  a  pigeon  hawk ' 
dashed  over  the  bank  very  low  and  within  a  rod  of  me, 
and,  striking  its  wings  against  the  twigs  with  a  clatter 
close  to  a  sparrow,  which  escaped,  it  alighted  amid  the 
alders  in  front,  within  four  rods  of  me.  It  was  attracted 
by  the  same  objects  which  attracted  me.  It  sat  a  few 
moments,  balancing  itself  and  spreading  its  tail  and 
wings,  —  a  chubby  little  fellow.  Its  back  appeared  a 
sort  of  deep  chocolate-brown.  Every  sparrow  at  once 
concealed  itself,  apparently  deep  in  the  bushes  next 
the  ground.  Once  or  twice  he  dashed  down  there  amid 
the  alders  and  tried  to  catch  one.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
skimmed  along  the  hedge  by  the  path  and  disappeared 
westward.  But  presently,  hearing  the  sound  of  his 
wings  amid  the  bushes,  I  looked  up  and  saw  him  dash- 
ing along  through  the  willows  and  then  out  and  up- 
ward high  over  the  meadow  in  pursuit  of  a  sparrow 
(perhaps  a  seringo).  The  sparrow  flew  pretty  high  and 
kept  doubling.  When  it  flew  direct,  the  hawk  gained, 
and  got  within  two  or  three  feet  of  it ;  but  when  it 
doubled,  it  gained  on  the  hawk ;  so  the  latter  soon  gave 
up  the  chase,  and  the  little  bird  flew  off  high  over  my 
head,  with  a  panting  breath  and  a  rippling  ricochet 
flight,  toward  the   high  pine  grove.  When  I  passed 

^  [See  note  to  Savannah  Sparrow,  p.  290.] 

2  [Fringilla  hyemalis,  the  slate-colored  junco  or  snowbird,  now  known 
as  Junco  hyemalis.] 
■*  Was  I  sure  ? 


168     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

along  the  path  ten  minutes  after,  I  found  that  all  those 
sparrows  were  still  hid  under  the  bushes  by  the  ditch- 
side,  close  to  the  ground,  and  I  saw  nothing  of  them 
till  I  scared  them  out  by  going  within  two  or  three  feet. 
No  doubt  they  warned  each  other  by  a  peculiar  note. 
What  a  corsair  the  hawk  is  to  them  !  —  a  little  fellow 
hardly  bigger  than  a  quail. 

Feh.  29,  1856.  [Minott]  told  again  of  the  partridge 
hawk  striking  down  a  partridge  which  rose  before  him 
and  flew  across  the  run  in  the  beech  woods,  —  how 
suddenly  he  did  it,  —  and  he,  hearing  the  fluttering  of 
the  partridge,  came  up  and  secured  it,  while  the  hawk 
kept  out  of  gunshot. 

Sept.  27,  1857.  As  I  sit  there  I  see  the  shadow  of  a 
hawk  flying  above  and  behind  me.  I  think  I  see  more 
hawks  nowadays.  Perhaps  it  is  both  because  the  young 
are  grown  and  their  food,  the  small  birds,  are  flying 
in  flocks  and  are  abundant.  I  need  only  sit  still  a  few 
minutes  on  any  spot  which  overlooks  the  river  meadows, 
before  I  see  some  black  circling  mote  beating  along, 
circling  along  the  meadow's  edge,  now  lost  for  a  mo- 
ment as  it  turns  edgewise  in  a  peculiar  light,  now  re- 
appearing further  or  nearer. 

\_See  also  under  Wild  Goose,  p.  59  ;  Fish  Hawk,  pp. 
150,  151;  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  409,  412.] 


IX 

OWLS 

LONG-EARED   OWL 

June  24,  1857.  Went  to  Farmer's  Swamp  to  look 
for  the  screech  owl's  *  nest  Farmer  had  found.  You  go 
about  forty-five  rods  on  the  first  path  to  the  left  in  the 
woods  and  then  turn  to  the  left  a  few  rods.  I  found  the 
nest  at  last  near  the  top  of  a  middling-sized  white  pine, 
about  thirty  feet  from  the  ground.  As  I  stood  by  the 
tree,  the  old  bird  dashed  by  within  a  couple  of  rods, 
uttering  a  peculiar  mewing  sound,  which  she  kept  up 
amid  the  bushes,  a  blackbird  in  close  pursuit  of  her. 
I  found  the  nest  empty,  on  one  side  of  the  main  stem 
but  close  to  it,  resting  on  some  limbs.  It  was  made  of 
twigs  rather  less  than  an  eighth  of  an  inch  thick  and  was 
almost  flat  above,  only  an  inch  lower  in  the  middle  than 
at  the  edge,  about  sixteen  inches  in  diameter  and  six 
or  eight  inches  thick,  with  the  twigs  in  the  midst,  and 
beneath  was  mixed  sphagnum  and  sedge  from  the  swamp 
beneath,  and  the  lining  or  flooring  was  coarse  strips 
of  grape-vine  bark  ;  the  whole  pretty  firmly  matted 
together.  How  common  and  important  a  material  is 
grape-vine  bark  for  birds'  nests !  Nature  wastes  no- 
thing. There  were  white  droppings  of  the  young  on  the 
nest  and  one  lai-ge  pellet  of  fur  and  small  bones  two 

^  [The  situation  of  the  nest  and  Thoreau's  description  of  the  notes 
indicate  a  long-eared  owl  rather  than  a  screech  owl.] 


170     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

and  a  half  inches  long.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  old  bird 
was  uttering  that  hoarse  worried  note  from  time  to 
time,  somewhat  like  a  partridge's,  flying  past  from  side 
to  side  and  alighting  amid  the  trees  or  bushes.  When 
I  had  descended,  I  detected  one  young  one  two-thirds 
grown  perched  on  a  branch  of  the  next  tree,  about  fif- 
teen feet  from  the  ground,  which  was  all  the  while  star- 
ing at  me  with  its  great  yellow  eyes.  It  was  gray  with 
gray  horns  and  a  dark  beak.  As  I  walked  past  near  it, 
it  turned  its  head  steadily,  always  facing  me,  without 
moving  its  body,  till  it  looked  directly  the  opposite 
way  over  its  back,  but  never  offered  to  fly.  Just  then 
I  thought  surely  that  I  heard  a  puppy  faintly  barking 
at  me  four  or  five  rods  distant  amid  the  bushes,  hav- 
ing tracked  me  into  the  swamp,  —  what  what^  what 
what  what.  It  was  exactly  such  a  noise  as  the  barking 
of  a  very  small  dog  or  perhaps  a  fox.  But  it  was  the 
old  owl,  for  I  presently  saw  her  making  it.  She  re- 
peated \_&ic\  perched  quite  near.  She  was  generally 
reddish-brown  or  partridge-colored,  the  breast  mottled 
with  dark  brown  and  fawn-color  in  downward  strings 
\sic\^  and  had  plain  fawn-colored  thighs. 

SHORT- EARED    OWL 

Dec.  8,  1853.  At  midday  (3  p.  m.)  saw  an  owl  fly 
from  toward  the  river  and  alight  on  Mrs.  Richardson's 
front-yard  fence.  Got  quite  near  it,  and  followed  it  to 
a  rock  on  the  heap  of  dirt  at  Collier's  cellar.  A  rather 
dark  brown  owl  above  (with  a  decided  owl  head  (and 
eyes),  though  not  very  broad),  with  longitudinal  tawny 
streaks    (or   the   reverse),  none    transverse,  growing 


BARRED   OWL  171 

lighter  down  the  breast,  and  at  length  clear  rusty  yel- 
lowish or  cream-color  beneath  and  about  feathered  feet. 
Wings  large  and  long,  with  a  distinct  large  black  spot 
beneath ;  bill  and  claws,  I  think,  black.  Saw  no  ears. 
Kept  turning  its  head  and  great  black  eyes  this  way 
and  that  when  it  heard  me,  but  appeared  not  to  see 
me.  Saw  my  shadow  better,  for  I  ap[proached]  on  the 
sunny  side.  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  the  short-eared 
owl,  though  I  could  see  no  ears,  though  it  reminded 
me  of  what  I  had  read  of  the  hawk  owl.^  It  was  a 
foot  or  more  long  and  spread  about  three  feet.  Flew 
somewhat  flappingly,  yet  hawk-like.  Went  within  two 
or  three  rods  of  it. 

BAKRED    OWL 

Dec.  14,  1858.  I  see  at  Derby's  shop  a  barred  owl 
(^Strix  nebulosa) ,'^  taken  in  the  woods  west  of  the  fac- 
tory on  the  11th,  found  (with  its  wing  broke  [s«c])  by 
a  wood-chopper.  It  measures  about  three  and  a  half 
feet  in  alar  extent  by  eighteen  to  twenty  inches  lon^, 
or  nearly  the  same  as  the  cat  owl,  but  is  small  and  with- 
out horns.  It  is  very  mild  and  quiet,  bears  handling 
perfectly  well,  and  only  snaps  its  bill  with  a  loud  sound 
at  the  sight  of  a  cat  or  dog.  It  is  apparently  a  female, 
since  it  is  large  and  has  white  spots  on  the  wings.  The 
claws  are  quite  dark  rather  than  dark  horn-color.  It 
hopped  into  the  basin  of  the  scales,  and  I  was  surprised 

^  [The  description  is  that  of  the  short-eared  owl,  except  that  the 
eyes  of  that  species  are  yellow,  not  black.  The  pupils  may  have  been 
dilated,  however,  so  as  to  give  a  general  impression  of  black  eyea.] 

2  [Now  Strix  varia.^ 


172     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

to  find  that  it  weighed  only  one  pound  and  one  ounce. 
It  may  be  thin-fleshed  on  account  of  its  broken  wing, 
but  how  light-bodied  these  flyers  are !  It  has  no  yellow 
iris  like  the  cat  owl,  and  has  the  bristles  about  its  yel- 
low bill  which  the  other  has  not.  It  has  a  very  smooth 
and  handsome  round  head,  a  brownish  gray.  Solemnity 
is  what  they  express,  —  fit  representatives  of  the  night.* 

SAW- WHET    OWL  ;    ACADIAN    OWL 

Jan.  6,  1859.  Miles  had  hanging  in  his  barn  a  little 
owl  (^Strix  Acadica)^  which  he  caught  alive  with  his 
hands  about  a  week  ago.  He  had  forced  it  to  eat,  but 
it  died.  It  was  a  funny  little  brown  bird,  spotted  with 
white,  seven  and  a  half  inches  long  to  the  end  of  the 
tail,  or  eight  to  the  end  of  the  claws,  by  nineteen  in 
alar  extent,  —  not  so  long  by  considerable  as  a  robin, 
though  much  stouter.  This  one  had  three  (not  two)^ 
white  bars  on  its  tail,  but  no  noticeable  white  at  the 
tip.  Its  cunning  feet  were  feathered  quite  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  toes,  looking  like  whitish  (or  tawny- 
white)  mice,  or  as  when  one  pulls  stockings  over  his 
boots.  As  usual,  the  white  spots  on  the  upper  sides  of  the 
wings  are  smaller  and  a  more  distinct  white,  while  those 
beneath  are  much  larger,  but  a  subdued,  satiny  white. 
Even  a  bird's  wing  has  an  upper  and  under  side,  and 
the  last  admits  only  of  more  subdued  and  tender  colors. 

^  [Thoreau  had  once  before  seen  a  live  barred  owl,  and  he  gives  an 
account  of  it  in  the  chapter  on  "  Winter  Visitors  "  in  Walden.  This 
account  does  not  appear  in  the  published  Journal.  It  was  probably 
■written  in  one  of  those  early  journals  ■which  -were  destroyed  in  the 
preparation  of  the  Week  and  Walden.l 

^  [Now  Cryptoglaux  acadica.]  ^  Nuttall  says  three. 


SCREECH   OWL  173 

SCREECH    OWL 

Aug.^  1845.  After  the  evening  train  has  gone  by 
and  left  the  world  to  silence  and  to  me,  the  whip-poor- 
will  chants  her  vespers  for  half  an  hour.  And  when  all 
is  still  at  night,  the  owls  take  up  the  strain,  like  mourn- 
ing women  their  ancient  ululu.  Their  most  dismal 
scream  is  truly  Ben -Jon  son  i  an.  Wise  midnight  hags  ! 
It  is  no  honest  and  blunt  tu-whit  tu-who  of  the  poets, 
but,  without  jesting,  a  most  solemn  graveyard  ditty,  — 
but  the  mutual  consolations  of  suicide  lovers  remem- 
bering the  pangs  and  the  delights  of  supernal  love  in 
the  infernal  groves.  And  yet  I  love  to  hear  their  wail- 
ing, their  doleful  responses,  trilled  along  the  woodside, 
reminding  me  sometimes  of  music  and  singing  birds, 
as  if  it  were  the  dark  and  tearful  side  of  music,  the 
regrets  and  sighs,  that  would  fain  be  sung.  The  spirits, 
the  low  spirits  and  melancholy  forebodings,  of  fallen 
spirits  who  once  in  human  shape  night-walked  the  earth 
and  did  the  deeds  of  darkness,  now  expiating  with  their 
wailing  hymns,  threnodiai,  their  sins  in  the  very  scen- 
ery of  their  transgressions.  They  give  me  a  new  sense 
of  the  vastness  and  mystery  of  that  nature  which  is 
the  common  dwelling  of  us  both.  "  Oh-o-o-o-o  that  I 
never  had  been  bor-or-or-or-orn  ! "  sighs  one  on  this 
side  of  the  pond,  and  circles  in  the  restlessness  of 
despair  to  some  new  perch  in  the  gray  oaks.  Then, 
"That  I  never  had  been  bor-or-or-or-orn!"  echoes  one 
on  the  further  side,  with  a  tremulous  sincerity,  and 
"Bor-or-or-or-orn"  comes  faintly  from  far  in  the  Lin- 
coln woods. 


174     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

Aug.  14,  1854.  I  hear  the  tremulous  squealing 
scream  of  a  screech  owl  in  the  Holden  Woods,  sounding 
somewhat  like  the  neighing  of  a  horse,  not  like  the  snipe. 

May  7,  1855.  A  short  distance  beyond  this  and  the 
hawk's-nest  pine,  I  observed  a  middling-sized  red  oak 
standing  a  little  aslant  on  the  side-hill  over  the  swamp, 
with  a  pretty  large  hole  in  one  side  about  fifteen  feet 
from  the  ground,  where  apparently  a  limb  on  which  a 
felled  tree  lodged  had  been  cut  some  years  before  and 
so  broke  out  a  cavity.  I  thought  that  sucli  a  hole  was 
too  good  a  one  not  to  be  improved  by  some  inhabit- 
ant of  the  wood.  Perhaps  the  gray  squirrels  I  had  just 
seen  had  their  nest  there.  Or  was  not  the  entrance  big 
enough  to  admit  a  screech  owl  ?  So  I  thought  I  would 
tap  on  it  and  put  my  ear  to  the  trunk  and  see  if  I 
could  hear  anything  stirring  within  it,  but  I  heard  no- 
thing. Then  I  concluded  to  look  into  it.  So  I  shinned 
up,  and  when  I  reached  up  one  hand  to  the  hole  to  pull 
myself  up  by  it,  the  thought  passed  through  my  mind 
perhaps  something  may  take  hold  my  fingers,  but  no- 
thing did.  The  first  limb  was  nearly  opposite  to  the 
hole,  and,  resting  on  this,  I  looked  in,  and,  to  my  great 
surprise,  there  squatted,  filling  the  hole,  which  was 
about  six  inches  deep  and  five  to  six  wide,  a  salmon - 
brown  bird  not  so  big  as  a  partridge,  seemingly  asleep 
within  three  inches  of  the  top  and  close  to  my  face.  It 
was  a  minute  or  two  before  I  made  it  out  to  be  an  owl. 
It  was  a  salmon-brown  or  fawn  (?)  above,  the  feathers 
shafted  with  small  blackish-brown  somewhat  hastate  (?) 
marks,  grayish  toward  the  ends  of  the  wings  and 
tail,  as  far  as  I  could  see.  A  large  white  circular  space 


SCREECH   OWL  175 

about  or  behind  eye,  banded  in  rear  by  a  pretty  broad 
(one  third  of  an  inch)  and  quite  conspicuous  perpendic- 
ular dark-hrown  stripe.  Egret/  say  one  and  a  quarter 
inches  long,  sharp,  triangular,  reddish-brown  without 
mainly.  It  lay  crowded  in  that  small  space,  with  its 
tail  somewhat  bent  up  and  one  side  of  its  head  turned 
up  with  one  egret,  and  its  large  dark  eye  open  only  by 
a  long  slit  about  a  sixteenth  of  an  inch  wide;  visible 
breathing.  After  a  little  while  I  put  in  one  hand  and 
stroked  it  repeatedly,  whereupon  it  reclined  its  head  a 
little  lower  and  closed  its  eye  entirely.  Though  curious 
to  know  what  was  under  it,  I  disturbed  it  no  farther 
at  that  time. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  crows  were  making  a  great 
cawing  amid  and  over  the  pine-tops  beyond  the  swamp, 
and  at  intervals  I  heard  the  scream  of  a  hawk,  proba- 
bly the  surviving  male  hen-hawk,  whom  they  were  pes- 
tering (unless  they  had  discovered  the  male  screech 
owl),  and  a  part  of  them  came  cawing  about  me.  This 
was  a  very  fit  place  for  hawks  and  owls  to  dwell  in, — 
the  thick  woods  just  over  a  white  spruce^  swamp,  in 
which  the  glaucous  kalmia  grows;  the  gray  squirrels, 
partridges,  hawks,  and  owls,  all  together.  It  was  prob- 
ably these  screech  owls  which  I  heard  in  moonlight 
nights  hereabouts  last  fall. 

Returning  by  owl's  nest,  about  one  hour  before  sun- 
set, I  climbed  up  and  looked  in  again.  The  owl  was  gone, 

1  [Wilson  used  the  term  "  egret "  for  the  "  ears,"  or  "  horns,"  of  the 
owls.] 

2  [Black  spruce.  See  note,  p.  184.] 


176     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

but  there  were  four  nearly  round  dirty  hroionish  white  * 
eggs,  quite  warm,  on  nothing  but  the  bits  of  rotten  wood 
which  made  the  bottom  of  the  hole.  The  eggs  were  very 
nearly  as  large  at  one  end  as  the  other,  slightly  oblong, 
1|  inches  by  1|,  as  nearly  as  I  could  measure.  I  took  out 
one.  It  would  probably  have  hatched  within  a  week,  the 
young  being  considerably  feathered  and  the  bill  remark- 
ably developed.  Perhaps  she  heard  me  coming,  and  so 
left  the  nest.  My  bird  corresponds  in  color,  as  far  as 
I  saw  it,  with  Wilson's  Strix  asio,  but  not  his  ncevia, 
which  Nuttall  and  others  consider  a  young  (?)  bird,^ 
though  the  egg  was  not  pure  white.  I  do  not  remember 
that  my  bird  was  barred  or  mottled  at  all. 

JH/ay.  12,  1855.  As  I  approached  the  owl's  nest,  I  saw 
her  run  past  the  hole  up  into  that  part  of  the  hollow 
above  it,  and  probably  she  was  there  when  I  thought  she 
had  flown  on  the  7th.  I  looked  in,  and  at  first  did  not 
know  what  I  saw.  One  of  the  three  remaining  eggs  was 
hatched,  and  a  little  downy  white  young  one,  two  or 
three  times  as  long  as  an  egg,  lay  helpless  between  the 

^  MacGillivray  describes  no  eg-gs  of  this  color,  —  only  white,  —  and 
the  same  with  Nuttall,  except  the  great  gray  owl.  [Screech  owl's  eggs, 
when  clean,  are  always  white  and  the  same  is  true  of  all  our  owls,  includ- 
ing the  great  gray  owl.] 

^  [The  dichromatism  of  the  screech  owl  gave  our  early  ornitholo- 
gists much  trouble.  The  red  phase  was  described  as  Strix  asio,  and 
the  gray,  or  mottled,  phase  was  given  the  name  of  Strix  ncevia.  Wilson 
believed  the  two  to  be  separate  species,  but  Nuttall,  in  his  first  edition, 
called  the  red  the  young  of  the  mottled  owl  (not  the  other  way  round, 
as  Thoreau  has  it).  In  the  edition  of  1840,  however,  Nuttall  makes  two 
species  of  the  screech  owl,  as  Wilson  had  done  before  him,  and  it  was 
left  to  later  workers  to  discover  that  the  two  forms  were  only  color 
phases  of  a  single  species,  which  is  now  known  to  Bcience  as  Otus  asio.] 


SCREECH   OWL  177 

two  remaining  eggs.  Also  a  dead  white-bellied  mouse 
(^Mus  leucopus)^  lay  with  them,  its  tail  curled  round 
one  of  the  eggs. 

May  25,  1855.  Scared  a  screech  owl  out  of  an  apple 
tree  on  hill ;  flew  swiftly  off  at  first  like  a  pigeon  wood- 
pecker and  lit  near  by  facing  me ;  was  instantly  visited 
and  spied  at  by  a  brown  thrasher ;  then  flew  into  a  hole 
high  in  a  hickory  near  by,  the  thrasher  following  close  to 
the  tree.  It  was  reddish  or  ferruginous. 

May  26,  1855.  At  the  screech  owl's  nest  I  now  find 
two  young  slumbering,  almost  uniformly  gray  above, 
about  five  inches  long,  with  little  dark-grayish  tufts 
for  incipient  horns  (?).  Their  heads  about  as  broad  as 
their  bodies.  I  handle  them  without  their  stirring  or 
opening  their  eyes.  There  are  the  feathers  of  a  small 
bird  and  the  leg  of  the  Mus  leucopus  in  the  nest. 

Sept.  23,  1855.  8  P.  M.  —  I  hear  from  my  chamber 
a  screech  owl  about  Monroe's  house  this  bright  moon- 
light night, —  a  loud,  piercing  scream,  much  like  the 
whinner  of  a  colt  perchance,  a  rapid  trill,  then  subdued 
or  smothered  a  note  or  two. 

Oct.  28, 1855.  As  I  paddle  under  the  Hemlock  bank 
this  cloudy  afternoon,  about  3  o'clock,  I  see  a  screech 
owl  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  hollow  hemlock  stump  about 
three  feet  high,  at  the  base  of  a  large  hemlock.  It  sits 
with  its  head  drawn  in,  eying  me,  with  its  eyes  partly 
open,  about  twenty  feet  off.  When  it  hears  me  move,  it 
turns  its  head  toward  me,  perhaps  one  eye  only  open,  with 
its  great  glaring  golden  iris.  You  see  two  whitish  trian- 
gular lines  above  the  eyes  meeting  at  the  bill,  with  a  sharp 
^  [Now  known  as  Peromyscus  leucopus  noveboracensisi] 


178     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

reddish-brown  triangle  between  and  a  narrow  curved  line 
of  black  under  each  eye.  At  this  distance  and  in  this 
light,  you  see  only  a  black  spot  where  the  eye  is,  and  the 
question  is  whether  the  eyes  are  open  or  not.  It  sits  on 
the  lee  side  of  the  tree  this  raw  and  windy  day.  You 
would  say  that  this  was  a  bird  without  a  neck.  Its  short 
bill,  which  rests  upon  its  breast,  scarcely  projects  at  all, 
but  in  a  state  of  rest  the  whole  upper  part  of  the  bird  from 
the  wings  is  rounded  off  smoothly,  excepting  the  horns, 
which  stand  up  conspicuously  or  are  slanted  back.  After 
watching  it  ten  minutes  from  the  boat,  I  landed  two 
rods  above,  and,  stealing  quietly  up  behind  the  hemlock, 
though  from  the  windward,  I  looked  carefully  around 
it,  and,  to  my  surprise,  saw  the  owl  still  sitting  there.  So 
I  sprang  round  quickly,  with  my  arm  outstretched,  and 
caught  it  in  my  hand.  It  was  so  surprised  that  it  offered 
no  resistance  at  first,  only  glared  at  me  in  mute  astonish- 
ment with  eyes  as  big  as  saucers.  But  ere  long  it  began 
to  snap  its  bill,  making  quite  a  noise,  and,  as  I  rolled 
it  up  in  my  handkerchief  and  put  it  in  my  pocket,  it 
bit  my  finger  slightly.  I  soon  took  it  out  of  my  pocket 
and,  tying  the  handkerchief,  left  it  on  the  bottom  of 
the  boat.  So  I  carried  it  home  and  made  a  small  cage 
in  which  to  keep  it,  for  a  night.  When  I  took  it  up,  it 
clung  so  tightly  to  my  hand  as  to  sink  its  claws  into  my 
fingers  and  bring  blood. 

When  alarmed  or  provoked  most,  it  snaps  its  bill  and 
hisses.  It  puffs  up  its  feathers  to  nearly  twice  its  usual 
size,  stretches  out  its  neck,  and,  with  wide-open  eyes, 
stares  this  way  and  that,  moving  its  head  slowly  and 
undulatingly  from  side  to  side  with  a  curious  motion. 


SCREECH  OWL  179 

While  I  write  this  evening,  I  see  that  there  is  ground  for 
much  superstition  in  it.  It  looks  out  on  me  from  a  dusky 
corner  of  its  box  with  its  great  solemn  eyes,  so  perfectly 
still  itself.  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  I  could  imitate  its 
note  as  I  remember  it,  by  a  guttural  whinnering. 

A  remarkably  squat  figure,  being  very  broad  in  pro- 
portion to  its  length,  with  a  short  tail,  and  very  cat-like 
in  the  face  with  its  horns  and  great  eyes.  Remarkably 
large  feet  and  talons,  legs  thickly  clothed  with  whitish 
down,  down  to  the  talons.  It  brought  blood  from  my 
fingers  by  clinging  to  them.  It  would  lower  its  head, 
stretch  out  its  neck,  and,  bending  it  from  side  to  side,  peer 
at  you  with  laughable  circumspection ;  from  side  to  side,  as 
if  to  catch  or  absorb  into  its  eyes  every  ray  of  light,  strain 
at  you  with  complacent  yet  earnest  scrutiny.  Raising 
and  lowering  its  head  and  moving  it  from  side  to  side 
in  a  slow  and  regular  manner,  at  the  same  time  snapping 
its  bill  smartly  perhaps,  and  faintly  hissing,  and  puffing 
itself  up  more  and  more,  —  cat-like,  turtle-like,  both  in 
hissing  and  swelling.  The  slowness  and  gravity,  not  to 
say  solemnity,  of  this  motion  are  striking.  There  plainly 
is  no  jesting  in  this  case. 

General  color  of  the  owl  a  rather  pale  and  perhaps 
slightly  reddish  brown,  the  feathers  centred  with  black. 
Perches  with  two  claws  above  and  two  below  the  perch. 
It  is  a  slight  body,  covered  with  a  mass  of  soft  and 
light-lying  feathers.  Its  head  muffled  in  a  great  hood. 
It  must  be  quite  comfortable  in  winter.  Dropped  a 
pellet  of  fur  and  bones  (?)  in  his  cage.  He  sat,  not 
really  moping  but  trying  to  sleep,  in  a  corner  of  his 


180     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

box  all  day,  yet  with  one  or  both  eyes  slightly  open 
all  the  while.  I  never  once  caught  him  with  his  eyes 
shut.  Ordinarily  stood  rather  than  sat  on  his  perch. 

Oct.  29,  1855.  P.  M.  —  Up  Assabet. 

Carried  my  owl  to  the  hill  again.  Had  to  shake  him 
out  of  the  box,  for  he  did  not  go  of  his  own  accord. 
(He  had  learned  to  alight  on  his  perch,  and  it  was  sur- 
prising how  lightly  and  noiselessly  he  would  hop  upon 
it.)  There  he  stood  on  the  grass,  at  first  bewildered, 
with  his  horns  pricked  up  and  looking  toward  me.  In 
this  strong  light  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  suddenly  con- 
tracted and  the  iris  expanded  till  they  were  two  great 
brazen  orbs  with  a  centre  spot  merely.  His  attitude 
expressed  astonishment  more  than  anything.  I  was 
obliged  to  toss  him  up  a  little  that  he  might  feel  his 
wings,  and  then  he  flapped  away  low  and  heavily  to  a 
hickory  on  the  hillside  twenty  rods  off.  (I  had  let  him 
out  in  the  plain  just  east  of  the  hill.)  Thither  I  fol- 
lowed and  tried  to  start  him  again.  He  was  now  on 
the  qui  vive,  yet  would  not  start.  He  erected  his  head, 
showing  some  neck,  narrower  than  the  round  head 
above.  His  eyes  were  broad  brazen  rings  around  bul- 
lets of  black.  His  horns  stood  quite  an  inch  high,  as 
not  before.  As  I  moved  around  him,  he  turned  his 
head  always  toward  me,  till  he  looked  directly  behind 
himself  as  he  sat  crosswise  on  a  bough.  He  behaved 
as  if  bewildered  and  dazzled,  gathering  all  the  light 
he  could  and  ever  straining  his  great  eyes  toward  you 
to  make  out  who  you  are,  but  not  inclining  to  fly.  I 
had  to  lift  him  again  with  a  stick  to  make  him  fly, 
and  then  he  only  rose  to  a  higher  perch,  where  at  last 


SCREECH   OWL  181 

he  seemed  to  seek  the  shelter  of  a  thicker  cluster 
of  the  sere  leaves,  partly  crouching  there.  He  never 
appeared  so  much  alarmed  as  surprised  and  aston- 
ished. 

When  I  first  saw  him  yesterday,  he  sat  on  the  edge 
of  a  hollow  hemlock  stump  about  three  feet  high,  at 
the  bottom  of  a  large  hemlock,  amid  the  darkness  of 
the  evergreens  that  cloudy  day.  (It  threatened  to  rain 
every  moment.)  At  the  bottom  of  the  hollow,  or  eight- 
een inches  beneath  him,  was  a  very  soft  bed  of  the 
fine  green  moss  (hypnum)  which  grows  on  the  bank 
close  by,  probably  his  own  bed.  It  had  been  recently 
put  there. 

When  I  moved  him  in  his  cage  he  would  cling  to  the 
perch,  though  it  was  in  a  perpendicular  position,  one 
foot  above  another,  suggesting  his  habit  of  clinging 
to  and  climbing  the  inside  of  hollow  trees.  I  do  not 
remember  any  perpendicular  line  in  his  eyes,  as  in  those 
of  the  cat. 

July  10,  1856.  As  I  was  bathing  under  the  swamp 
white  oaks  at  6  P.  m.,  heard  a  suppressed  sound  often 
repeated,  like,  perhaps,  the  working  of  beer  through  a 
bung-hole,  which  I  already  suspected  to  be  produced 
by  owls.  I  was  uncertain  whether  it  was  far  or  near. 
Proceeding  a  dozen  rods  up-stream  on  the  south  side, 
toward  where  a  catbird  was  incessantly  mewing,  I 
found  myself  suddenly  within  a  rod  of  a  gray  screech 
owl  sitting  on  an  alder  bough  with  horns  erect,  turning 
its  head  from  side  to  side  and  up  and  down,  and  peer- 
ing at  me  in  that  same  ludicrously  solemn  and  com- 
placent way  that  I  had  noticed  in  one  in  captivity. 


182     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Another,  more  reJ,  also  horned,  rej^eated  the  same 
warning  sound,  or  apparently  call  to  its  young,  about 
the  same  distance  off,  in  another  direction,  on  an  alder. 
When  they  took  to  flight  they  made  some  noise  with 
their  wings.  With  their  short  tails  and  squat  figures 
they  looked  very  clumsy,  all  head  and  shoulders.  Hear- 
ing a  fluttering  under  the  alders,  I  drew  near  and  found 
a  young  owl,  a  third  smaller  than  the  old,  all  gray, 
without  obvious  horns,  only  four  or  five  feet  distant. 
It  flitted  along  two  rods,  and  I  followed  it.  I  saw  at 
least  two  or  more  young.  All  this  was  close  by  that 
thick  hemlock  grove,  and  they  perched  on  alders  and 
an  apple  tree  in  the  thicket  there.  These  birds  kept 
opening  their  eyes  when  I  moved,  as  if  to  get  clearer 
sight  of  me.  The  young  were  very  quick  to  notice  any 
motion  of  the  old,  and  so  betrayed  their  return  by  look- 
ing in  that  direction  when  they  returned,  though  I  had 
not  heard  it.  Though  they  permitted  me  to  come  so  near 
with  so  much  noise,  as  if  bereft  of  half  their  senses, 
they  at  [once]  noticed  the  coming  and  going  of  the 
old  birds,  even  when  I  did  not.  There  were  four  or  five 
owls  in  all.  I  have  heard  a  somewhat  similar  note, 
further  off  and  louder,  in  the  night. 

Dec.  26, 1860.  Melvin  sent  to  me  yesterday  a  per- 
fect Strix  aslo,  or  red  owl  of  Wilson,  —  not  at  all 
gray.  This  is  now  generally  made  the  same  with  the 
ncevia,  but,  while  some  consider  the  red  the  old,  others 
consider  the  red  the  young.  This  is,  as  Wilson  says,  a 
bright  "  nut  brown  "  like  a  hazelnut  or  dried  hazel  bur 
(not  hazel).  It  is  twenty-three  inches  in  alar  extent 
by  about  eleven  long.    Feet  extend  one  inch   beyond 


GREAT   HORNED   OWL  183 

tail.  Cabot  makes  the  old  bird  red;  Audubon,  the 
young.  How  well  fitted  these  and  other  owls  to  with- 
stand the  winter  !  a  mere  core  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
muff  of  feathers !  Then  the  feet  of  this  are  feathered 
finely  to  the  claws,  looking  like  the  feet  of  a  furry 
quadruped.  Accordingly  owls  are  common  here  in  win- 
ter ;  hawks,  scarce. 

GREAT   HORNED   OWL  ;   CAT   OWL  * 

Nov.  18,  1851.  Surveying  these  days  the  Ministerial 
Lot. 

Now  at  sundown  I  hear  the  hooting  of  an  owl,  —  hoo 
hoo  hoo,  hoorer  hoo.  It  sounds  like  the  hooting  of  an 
idiot  or  a  maniac  broke  loose.  This  is  faintly  answered 
in  a  different  strain,  apparently  from  a  greater  distance, 
almost  as  if  it  were  the  echo,  i.  e.  so  far  as  the  succession 
is  concerned.  This  is  my  music  each  evening.  I  heard 
it  last  evening.  The  men  who  help  me  call  it  the  "  hoot- 
ing owl"  and  think  it  is  the  cat  owl.  It  is  a  sound  ad- 
mirably suited  to  the  swamp  and  to  the  twilight  woods, 
suggesting  a  vast  undeveloped  nature  which  men  have 
not  recognized  nor  satisfied.  I  rejoice  that  there  are 
owls.  They  represent  the  stark,  twilight,  unsatisfied 
thoughts  I  have.  Let  owls  do  the  idiotic  and  maniacal 
hooting  for  men.  This  sound  faintly  suggests  the  infi- 
nite roominess  of  nature,  that  there  is  a  world  in  which 
owls  live.  Yet  how  few  are  seen,  even  by  the  hunters! 

^  [From  Thoreau's  descriptions  of  the  notes  of  bis  "  hooting-  owls  " 
it  seems  probable  that  they  were  all  of  this  species.  There  appear  to 
have  been  two  pairs  of  these  birds  regnlarly  settled  in  Concord  in 
Thoreau's  time,  — one  in  the  Walden  woods  and  one  in  the  Ministerial 
Swamp  in  the  southwestern  part  of  the  town.] 


184    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

The  sun  has  shone  for  a  day  over  this  savage  swamp, 
where  the  single  spruce  ^  stands  covered  with  usnea 
moss,  which  a  Concord  merchant  mortgaged  once  to 
the  trustees  of  the  ministerial  fund  and  lost,  but  now 
for  a  different  race  of  creatures  a  new  day  dawns  over 
this  wilderness,  which  one  would  have  thought  was  suf- 
ficiently dismal  before.  Here  hawks  also  circle  by  day, 
and  chickadees  are  heard,  and  rabbits  and  partridges 
abound. 

Nov.  25,  1851.  When  surveying  in  the  swamp  on 
the  20th  last,  at  sundown,  I  heard  the  owls.  Hosmer^ 
said  :  "  If  you  ever  minded  it,  it  is  about  the  surest  sign 
of  rain  that  there  is.  Don't  you  know  that  last  Friday 
night  you  heard  them  and  spoke  of  them,  and  the  next 
day  it  rained  ?  "  This  time  there  were  other  signs  of  rain 
in  abundance.  "But  night  before  last,"  said  I,  "when 
you  were  not  here,  they  hooted  louder  than  ever,  and  we 
have  had  no  rain  yet."  At  any  rate,  it  rained  hard  the 
21st,  and  by  that  rain  the  river  was  raised  much  higher 
than  it  has  been  this  fall. 

Feb.  3,  1852.  My  owl  sounds  hob  hob  hob^  hob.^ 
May  1,  1852.  When  leaving  the  woods  *  I  heard  the 
hooting  of  an  owl,  which  sounded  very  much  like  a 
clown  calling  to  his  team. 

^  [An  old  name  for  the  white  spruce.  Thoreau  afterwards  learned  that 
he  had  been  mistaken  as  to  the  identification  and  that  the  Concord  trees 
•were  hlack  spruces.] 

2  [Mr.  Joseph  Hosmer,  an  old  citizen  of  Concord,  who  was  helping 
Thoreau  in  his  surveying'.] 

'  [This  was  at  the  cliffs  of  Fairhaven  Hill  near  Walden  Pond  on  a 
moonlight  evening.] 

*  [Near  Walden  Pond.] 


GREAT   HORNED   OWL  185 

June  23,  1852.  I  hear  my  old  Waklen  owl.  Its  first 
note  is  almost  like  a  somewhat  peevish  scream  or  squeal 
of  a  child  shrugging  its  shoulders,  and  then  succeed  two 
more  moderate  and  musical  ones. 

July  5,  1852.  I  hear  my  hooting  owl  now  just  before 
sunset.^  You  can  fancy  it  the  most  melancholy  sound 
in  Nature,  as  if  Nature  meant  by  this  to  stereotype  and 
make  permanent  in  her  quire  the  dying  moans  of  a 
human  being,  made  more  awful  by  a  certain  gurgling 
melodiousness.  It  reminds  of  ghouls  and  idiots  and  in- 
sane bowlings.  One  answers  from  far  woods  in  a  strain 
made  really  sweet  by  distance.  Some  poor  weak  relic 
of  mortality  who  has  left  hope  behind,  and  howls  like 
an  animal,  yet  with  human  sobs,  on  entering  the  dark 
valley.  I  find  myself  beginning  with  the  letters  gl  when 
I  try  to  imitate  it.  Yet  for  the  most  part  it  is  a  sweet 
and  melodious  strain  to  me. 

April  2,  1853.  Heard  the  hooting  owl  in  Ministerial 
Swamp.  It  sounded  somewhat  like  the  hounding  or 
howling  of  some  dogs,  and  as  often  as  the  whistle  of 
the  engine  sounded  I  noticed  a  resemblance  in  the  tone. 
A  singular  kind  of  squealing  introduced  into  its  note. 

April  9,  1853.  Beyond  the  desert,^  hear  the  hooting 
owl,  which,  as  formerly,  I  at  first  mistook  for  the  hound- 
ing of  a  dog,  —  a  squealing  eee  followed  by  hoo  hoo  hoo 
deliberately,  and  particularly  sonorous  and  ringing.  This 
at  2  P.  M.  Now  mated.  Pay  their  adcjresses  by  day, 
says  Brooks.^ 

1  [At  Ministerial  Swamp.] 

2  [Dugan  Desert,  near  Ministerial  Swamp.] 
8  [George  Brooks,  of  Concord,  doubtless.] 


186     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Jan.  7,  1854.  I  went  to  these  woods  ^  partly  to  hear 
an  owl,  but  did  not ;  but,  now  that  I  have  left  them 
nearly  a  mile  behind,  I  hear  one  distinctly,  hoorer  hoo. 
Strange  that  we  should  hear  this  sound  so  often,  loud 
and  far,  —  a  voice  which  we  call  the  owl,  —  and  yet  so 
rarely  see  the  bird.  Oftenest  at  twilight.  It  has  a  sin- 
gular prominence  as  a  sound ;  is  louder  than  the  voice 
of  a  dear  friend.  Yet  we  see  the  friend  perhaps  daily 
and  the  owl  but  few  times  in  our  lives.  It  is  a  sound 
which  the  wood  or  the  horizon  makes.  I  see  the  cars 
almost  as  often  as  I  hear  the  whistle. 

Dec.  9,  1856.  From  a  little  east  of  Wyman's  I  look 
over  the  pond  -  westward.  The  sun  is  near  setting,  away 
beyond  Fair  Haven.  A  bewitching  stillness  reigns 
througfh  all  the  woodland  and  over  the  snow-clad  land- 
scape.  Indeed,  the  winter  day  in  the  woods  or  fields  has 
commonly  the  stillness  of  twilight.  The  pond  is  per- 
fectly smooth  and  full  of  light.  I  hear  only  the  strokes 
of  a  lingering  woodchopper  at  a  distance,  and  the  me- 
lodious hooting  of  an  owl,  which  is  as  common  and 
marked  a  sound  as  the  axe  or  the  locomotive  whistle. 
Yet  where  does  the  ubiquitous  hooter  sit,  and  who  sees 
him?  In  whose  wood-lot  is  he  to  be  found?  Few  eyes 
have  rested  on  him  hooting ;  few  on  him  silent  on  his 
perch  even.  Yet  cut  away  the  woods  never  so  much 
year  after  year,  though  the  chopper  has  not  seen  him 
and  only  a  grove  or  two  is  left,  still  his  aboriginal  voice 
is  heard  indefinitely  far  and  sweet,  mingled  oft,  in 
strange  harmony,  with  the  newly  invented  din  of  trade, 
like  a  sentence  of  Allegri  sounded  in  our  streets, — 
1  [Ministerial  Swamp.]  ^  [Walden  Pond.] 


GREAT  HORNED  OWL  187 

hooting  from  invisible  perch  at  his  foes  the  woodchop- 
pers,  who  are  invading  his  domains.  As  the  earth  only 
a  few  inches  beneath  the  surface  is  undisturbed  and 
what  it  was  anciently,  so  are  heard  still  some  primeval 
sounds  in  the  air.  Some  of  my  townsmen  I  never  see, 
and  of  a  great  proportion  I  do  not  hear  the  voices  in  a 
year,  though  they  live  within  my  horizon ;  but  every 
week  almost  I  hear  the  loud  voice  of  the  hooting  owl, 
though  I  do  not  see  the  bird  more  than  once  in  ten  years. 
Dec.  15,  1856.  I  still  recall  to  mind  that  character- 
istic winter  eve  of  December  9th ;  the  cold,  dry,  and 
wholesome  diet  my  mind  and  senses  necessarily  fed  on, 
—  oak  leaves,  bleached  and  withered  weeds  that  rose 
above  the  snow,  the  now  dark  green  of  the  pines,  and 
perchance  the  faint  metallic  chip  of  a  single  tree  spar- 
row ;  the  hushed  stillness  of  the  wood  at  sundown,  aye, 
all  the  winter  day ;  the  short  boreal  twilight ;  the  smooth 
serenity  and  the  reflections  of  the  pond,  still  alone  free 
from  ice;  the  melodious  hooting  of  the  owl,  heard  at 
the  same  time  with  the  yet  more  distant  whistle  of  a 
locomotive,  more  aboriginal,  and  perchance  more  en- 
during here  than  that,  heard  above  the  voices  of  all  the 
wise  men  of  Concord,  as  if  they  were  not  (how  little  he 
is  Anglicized !)  ;  the  last  strokes  of  the  woodchopper, 
who  presently  bends  his  steps  homeward;  the  gilded 
bar  of  cloud  across  the  apparent  outlet  of  the  pond, 
conducting  my  thoughts  into  the  eternal  west ;  the  deep- 
ening horizon  glow ;  and  the  hasty  walk  homeward  to 
enjoy  the  long  winter  evening.  The  hooting  of  the  owl  I 
That  is  a  sound  which  my  red  predecessors  heard  here 
more  than  a  thousand  years  ago.  It  rings  far  and  wide, 


188     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

occupying  the  spaces  rightfully, —  grand,  primeval, 
aboriginal  sound.  There  is  no  whisper  in  it  of  the 
Buckleys,  the  Flints,  the  Hosmers  who  recently  squatted 
here,  nor  of  the  first  parish,  nor  of  Concord  Fight,  nor 
of  the  last  town  meeting. 

Dec.  19,  1856.  As  I  stand  here,  I  hear  the  hooting  of 
my  old  acquaintance  the  owl  in  Wheeler's  Wood.^  Do 
I  not  oftenesthear  it  just  before  sundown  ?  This  sound, 
heard  near  at  hand,  is  more  simply  animal  and  guttural, 
without  resonance  or  reverberation,  but,  heard  here  from 
out  the  depths  of  the  wood,  it  sounds  peculiarly  hollow 
and  drum-like,  as  if  it  struck  on  a  tense  skin  drawn 
around,  the  tympanum  of  the  wood,  through  which  all 
we  denizens  of  nature  hear.  Thus  it  comes  to  us  an  ac- 
credited and  universal  or  melodious  sound  ;  is  more  than 
the  voice  of  the  owl,  the  voice  of  the  wood  as  well.  The 
owl  only  touches  the  stops,  or  rather  wakes  the  rever- 
berations. For  all  Nature  is  a  musical  instrument  on 
which  her  creatures  play,  celebrating  their  joy  or  grief 
unconsciously  often.  It  sounds  now,  hoo  \  hoo  hoo  (very 
fast)  I  hoo-rer  |  hoo. 

3fay  20,  1858.  Saw  in  the  street  a  young  cat  owl, 
one  of  two  which  Skinnei*  killed  in  Walden  Woods  yes- 
terday. It  was  almost  ready  to  fly,  at  least  two  and  a 
half  feet  in  alar  extent ;  tawny  with  many  black  bars, 
and  darker  on  wings.  Holmes,  in  Patent  Office  Report,^ 
says  they  "  pair  early  in  February."  So  I  visited  the 
nest.  It  was  in  a  large  white  pine  close  on  the  north  side 

1  [Near  Walden  Pond.] 

2  [1850,  p.  122,  in  paper  on  "Birds  Injurious  to  Agriculture,"  by 
Ezekiel  Holmes,  M.  D.,  of  Winthrop,  Maine,  pp.  110-160.] 


GREAT   HORNED   OWL  189 

of  the  path,  some  ten  rods  west  of  the  old  Stratton  cel- 
lar in  the  woods.  This  is  the  largest  pine  thereabouts, 
and  the  nest  is  some  thirty-five  feet  high  on  two  limbs 
close  to  the  main  stem,  and,  according  to  Skinner,  was 
not  much  more  than  a  foot  across,  made  of  small  sticks, 
nearly  flat,  "  without  fine  stuff !  "  There  were  but  two 
young.  This  is  a  path  which  somebody  travels  every 
half-day,  at  least,  and  only  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
great  road.  There  were  many  white  droppings  about 
and  large  rejected  pellets  containing  the  vertebrae  and 
hair  of  a  skunk.  As  I  stood  there,  I  heard  the  crows 
making  a  great  noise  some  thirty  or  forty  rods  off,  and 
immediately  suspected  that  they  were  pestering  one  of 
the  old  owls,  which  Skinner  had  not  seen.  It  proved  so, 
for,  as  I  approached,  the  owl  sailed  away  from  amidst 
a  white  pine  top,  with  the  crows  in  full  pursuit,  and  he 
looked  very  large,  stately,  and  heavy,  like  a  seventy-four 
among  schooners.  I  soon  knew  by  the  loud  cawing  of  the 
crows  that  he  had  alighted  again  some  forty  rods  off,  and 
there  again  I  found  him  perched  high  on  a  white  pine, 
the  large  tawny  fellow  with  black  dashes  and  large  erect 
horns.  Away  he  goes  again,  and  the  crows  after  him. 

June  18,  1858.  A  boy  climbs  to  the  cat  owl's  nest 
and  casts  down  what  is  left  of  it,  —  a  few  short  sticks 
and  some  earthy  almost  turfy  foundation,  as  if  it  were 
the  accumulation  of  years.  Beside  much  black  and  white 
skunk-hair,  there  are  many  fishes'  scales  (!)  intimately 
mixed  with  its  substance,  and  some  skunk's  bones. 

Jan.  30,  1859.  How  peculiar  the  hooting  of  an  owl! 
It  is  not  shrill  and  sharp  like  the  scream  of  a  hawk,  but 
full,  round,  and  sonorous,  waking  the  echoes  of  the  wood. 


CUCKOOS,   KINGFISHERS,   AND  WOODPECKERS 

BLACK-BILLED   CUCKOO  ;    ST.   DOMLffGO   CUCKOO^ 

June  18, 1853.  Found  the  nest  of  a  cuckoo,  —  a  long, 
slender,  handsome  bird,  probably  St.  Domingo  cuckoo, 
— at  the  edge  of  the  meadow  on  a  bent  sallow,  not  in  a 
crotch,  covered  by  the  broad,  shining  leaves  of  a  swamp 
white  oak,  whose  boughs  stretched  over  it,  two  feet  or 
more  from  the  ground.  The  nest  was  made  of  dry  twigs 
and  was  small  for  the  size  of  the  bird  and  very  shallow, 
but  handsomely  lined  with  an  abundance  of  what  looked 
like  the  dry  yellowish-brown  (  ?)  catkins  of  the  hickory, 
which  made  a  pleasing  contrast  with  the  surrounding 
grayish  twigs.  There  were  some  worm-eaten  green  leaves 
inwoven.  It  contained  a  single  greenish-white  elliptical 
Q%%t  an  inch  or  more  long.  The  bird  flew  off  a  little  way 
and  clow-clow-clowed. 

June  27,  1853.  The  cuckoo's  nest  is  robbed,  or  per- 
haps she  broke  her  &gg  because  I  found  it.  Thus  three 
out  of  half  a  dozen  nests  which  I  have  revisited  have 
been  broken  up.  It  is  a  very  shallow  nest,  six  or  seven 
inches  in  diameter  by  two  and  a  half  or  three  deep,  on 
a  low  bending  willow,  hardly  half  an  inch  deep  within  ; 
concealed  by  overlying  leaves  of  a  swamp  white  oak  on 

^  [The  black-billed,  or,  as  Thoreau  called  it,  after  Nuttall,  the  St. 
Domingo,  cuckoo  being  much  the  commoner  of  the  two  Northern 
species  in  the  Concord  region,  it  is  probable  that  most  if  not  all  of  his 
cuckoos  were  of  this  species.] 


BLACK-BILLED   CUCKOO  191 

the  edge  of  the  river  meadow,  two  to  three  feet  from 
ground,  made  of  slender  twigs  which  are  prettily  orna- 
mented with  much  ramalina  lichen,  lined  with  hickory 
catkins  and  pitch  pine  needles. 

Maij  14,  1854.  A  St.  Domingo  cuckoo,  black-billed 
with  red  round  eye,  a  silent,  long,  slender,  graceful  bird, 
dark  cinnamon  (  ?)  above,  pure  white  beneath.  It  is  in 
a  leisurely  manner  picking  the  young  caterjiillars  out 
of  a  nest  (now  about  a  third  of  an  inch  long)  with  its 
long,  curved  bill.  Not  timid. 

July  17,  1854.  The  cuckoo  is  a  very  neat,  slender, 
and  graceful  bird.  It  belongs  to  the  nobility  of  birds. 
It  is  elegant. 

June  5, 1856.  Acuckoo's  nest  with  three  light  bluish- 
green  eggs  partly  developed,  short  with  rounded  ends, 
nearly  of  a  size ;  in  the  thicket  up  railroad  this  side  high 
wood,  in  a  black  cherry  that  had  been  lopped  three  feet 
from  ground,  amid  the  thick  sprouts ;  a  nest  of  nearly 
average  depth  ( ?),  of  twigs  lined  with  green  leaves, 
pine-needles,  etc.,  and  edged  with  some  dry,  branchy 
weeds.  The  bird  stole  off  silently  at  first. 

Aug.  20,  1857.  As  I  stand  there,  I  hear  a  peculiar 
sound  which  I  mistake  for  a  woodpecker's  tapping,  but 
I  soon  see  a  cuckoo  hopping  near  suspiciously  or  in- 
quisitively, at  length  within  twelve  feet,  from  time  to 
time  uttering  a  hard,  dry  note,  very  much  like  a  wood- 
pecker tapping  a  dead  dry  tree  rapidly,  its  full  clear 
white  throat  and  breast  toward  me,  and  slowly  lifting  its 
tail  from  time  to  time.  Though  somewhat  allied  to  that 
throttled  note  it  makes  by  night,  it  was  quite  different 
from  that. 


192     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

BELTED    KINGFISHER 

April  24,  1854.  The  kingfisher  flies  with  a  crack 
cr-r-r-ack  and  a  limping  oi'  flitting  flight  from  tree 
to  tree  before  us,  and  finally,  after  a  third  of  a  mile, 
circles  round  to  our  rear.  He  sits  rather  low  over  the 
water.  Now  that  he  has  come  I  suppose  that  the  fishes 
on  which  he  preys  rise  within  reach. 

April  15,  1855.  Saw  and  heard  a  kingfisher  —  do 
they  not  come  with  the  smooth  waters  of  April? —  hur- 
rying over  the  meadow  as  if  on  urgent  business. 

April  22, 1855.  The  bluish  band  on  the  breast  of  the 
kingfisher  leaves  the  pure  white  beneath  in  the  form  of 
a  heart. 

April  11,  1856.  Saw  a  kingfisher  on  a  tree  over  the 
water.  Does  not  its  arrival  mark  some  new  movement 
in  its  finny  prey  ?  He  is  the  bright  buoy  that  betrays  it ! 

July  28,  1858.  Heard  a  kingfisher,  which  had  been 
hovering  over  the  river,  plunge  forty  rods  off. 

Aug.  6, 1858.  The  kingfisher  is  seen  hovering  stead- 
ily over  one  spot,  or  hurrying  away  with  a  small  fish  in 
his  mouth,  sounding  his  alarum  nevertheless. 

HAIRY   WOODPECKER 

April  9,  1855.  Heard  a  loud,  long,  dry,  tremulous 
shriek  which  reminded  me  of  a  kingfisher,  but  which  I 
found  proceeded  from  a  woodpecker  which  had  just 
alighted  on  an  elm ;  also  its  clear  whistle  or  chinJc 
afterward.  It  is  probably  the  hairy  woodpecker,  and  I 
am  not  so  certain  I  have  seen  it  earlier  this  year.* 

1  [The  kingfisher-like  rattle  is  diagnostic  of  the  hairy  woodpecker.] 


HAIRY   WOODPECKER  193 

June  5,  1857.  In  that  first  apple  tree  at  Wyraan's  an 
apparent  hairy  woodpecker's  nest  (from  the  size  of  the 
bird),  about  ten  feet  from  ground.  The  bird  darts 
away  with  a  shrill,  loud  chirping  of  alarm,  incessantly 
repeated,  long  before  I  get  there,  and  keeps  it  up  as 
long  as  I  stay  in  the  neighborhood.  The  yoiing  keep  up 
an  incessant  fine,  breathing  peep  which  can  be  heard 
across  the  road  and  is  much  increased  when  they  hear 
you  approach  the  hole,  they  evidently  expecting  the  old 
bird.  I  perceive  no  offensive  odor.  I  saw  the  bird  fly 
out  of  this  hole,  May  1st,  and  probably  the  eggs  were 
laid  about  that  time. 

Oct.  16,  1859.  See  a  hairy  woodpecker  on  a  burnt 
pitch  pine.  He  distinctly  rests  on  his  tail  constantly. 
With  what  vigor  he  taps  and  bores  the  bark,  making 
it  fly  far  and  wide,  and  then  darts  off  with  a  sharp 
whistle ! 

May  18,  1860.  A  hairy  woodpecker  betrays  its  hole 
in  an  apple  tree  by  its  anxiety.  The  ground  is  strewn 
with  the  chips  it  has  made,  over  a  large  space.  The 
hole,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  exactly  like  that  of  the 
downy  woodpecker,  —  the  entrance  (though  not  so 
round)  and  the  conical  form  within  above,  —  only 
larger.  The  bird  scolds  at  me  from  a  dozen  rods  off. 

DOWNY  WOODPECKER 

March  24,  1853.  The  downy  (?)  woodpeckers  are 
quite  numerous  this  morning,-  the  skirts  of  their  coats 
barred  with  white  and  a  large,  long  white  spot  on  their 
backs.  They  have  a  smart,  shrill  peep  or  whistle,  some- 
what like  a  robin,  but  more  metallic. 


194     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Jan.  8,  1854.  Stood  within  a  rod  of  a  downy  wood- 
pecker on  an  apple  tree.  How  curious  and  exciting  the 
blood-red  spot  on  its  hindhead !  I  ask  why  it  is  there, 
but  no  answer  is  rendered  by  these  snow-clad  fields.  It 
is  so  close  to  the  bark  I  do  not  see  its  feet.  It  looks  be- 
hind as  if  it  had  on  a  black  cassock  open  behind  and 
showing  a  white  undergarment  between  the  shoulders 
and  down  the  back.  It  is  briskly  and  incessantly  tap- 
ping all  round  the  dead  limbs,  but  rarely  twice  in  a 
place,  as  if  to  sound  the  tree  and  so  see  if  it  has  any 
worm  in  it,  or  perchance  to  start  them.  How  much  he 
deals  with  the  bark  of  trees,  all  his  life  long  tapping 
and  inspecting  it !  He  it  is  that  scatters  those  frag- 
ments of  bark  and  lichens  about  on  the  snow  at  the 
base  of  trees.  What  a  lichenist  he  must  be !  Or  rather, 
perhaps  it  is  fungi  makes  his  favorite  study,  for  he 
deals  most  with  dead  limbs.  How  briskly  he  glides 
up  or  drops  himself  down  a  limb,  creeping  round  and 
round,  and  hopping  from  limb  to  limb,  and  now  flitting 
with  a  rippling  sound  of  his  wings  to  another  tree ! 

April  4, 1855.  The  rows  of  white  spots  near  the  end 
of  the  wings  of  the  downy  [woodpecker]  remind  me  of 
the  lacings  on  the  skirts  of  a  soldier's  coat. 

Dec.  14,  1855.  A  little  further  I  heard  the  sound 
of  a  downy  woodpecker  tapping  a  pitch  pine  in  a  little 
grove,  and  saw  him  inclining  to  dodge  behind  the  stem. 
He  flitted  from  pine  to  pine  before  me.  Frequently, 
when  I  pause  to  listen,  I  hear  this  sound  in  the  orchards 
or  streets.  This  was  in  one  of  these  dense  groves  of 
young  pitch  pines. 

June  20,  1856.    Walking  under  an  apple  tree  in  the 


DOWNY   WOODPECKER  195 

little  Baker  Farm  peach  orchard,  heard  an  incessant 
shrill  musical  twitter  or  peeping,  as  from  young  hirds, 
over  my  head,  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  hole  in  an  upright 
dead  bough,  some  fifteen  feet  from  ground.  Climbed 
up  and,  finding  that  the  shrill  twitter  came  from  it, 
guessed  it  to  be  the  nest  of  a  downy  woodpecker,  which 
proved  to  be  the  case,  —  for  it  reminded  me  of  the  hiss- 
ing squeak  or  squeaking  hiss  of  young  pigeon  wood- 
peckers, but  this  was  more  musical  or  bird-like.  The 
bough  was  about  four  and  a  half  inches  in  diameter, 
and  the  hole  perfectly  circular,  about  an  inch  and  a 
quarter  in  diameter.  Apparently  nests  had  been  in 
holes  above,  now  broken  out,  higher  up.  When  I  put 
my  fingers  in  it,  the  young  breathed  their  shrill  twitter 
louder  than  ever.  Anon  the  old  appeared,  and  came 
quite  near,  while  I  stood  in  the  tree,  keeping  up  an  in- 
cessant loud  and  shrill  scolding  note,  and  also  after  I 
descended  ;  not  to  be  relieved. 

July  19,  1856.  The  downy  woodpecker's  nest  which 
I  got  July  8th  was  in  a  dead  and  partly  rotten  upright 
apple  bough  four  and  three  quarters  inches  in  diam- 
eter. Hole  'perfectly  elliptical  (or  oval)  one  and  two 
sixteenths  by  one  and  five  sixteenths  inches ;  whole 
depth  below  it  eight  inches.  It  is  excavated  directly  in- 
ward about  three  and  a  half  inches,  with  a  conical  roof, 
also  arching  at  back,  with  a  recess  in  one  side  on  level 
with  the  hole,  where  the  bird  turns.  Judging  from  an 
old  hole  in  the  same  bough,  directly  above,  it  enlarges 
directly  to  a  diameter  of  two  and  one  fourth  to  two  and 
one  half  inches,  not  in  this  case  descending  exactly  in 
the  middle  of  the  bough,  but  leaving  one  side  not  a 


196     NOTES   ON   NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  At  the  hole  it  is  left  one  inch 
thick.  At  the  nest  it  is  about  two  and  three  eighths 
inches  in  diameter.  I  find  nothing  in  the  first  but  bits 
of  rotten  wood,  remains  of  insects,  etc.,  when  I  tip  it 
up,  —  for  I  cannot  see  the  bottom,  —  yet  in  the  old 
one  there  is  also  quite  a  nest  of  fine  stubble  (?),  bark 
shred  (?),  etc.,  mixed  with  the  bits  of  rotten  wood. 

[/S'ee  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  415, 
416,  422.] 

AKCTIC   THREE-TOED  WOODPECKER 

Oct.  8,  1860.  Standing  by  a  pigeon-place  on  the 
north  edge  of  Damon's  lot,  I  saw  on  the  dead  top  of 
a  white  pine  four  or  five  rods  off  —  which  had  been 
stripped  for  fifteen  feet  downward  that  it  might  die 
and  afford  with  its  branches  a  perch  for  the  pigeons 
about  the  place,  like  the  more  artificial  ones  that  were 
set  up  —  two  woodpecjiers  that  were  new  to  me.  They 
uttered  a  peculiar  sharp  hek  kek  on  alighting  (not  so 
sharp  as  that  of  the  hairy  or  downy  woodpecker)  and 
appeared  to  be  about  the  size  of  the  hairy  woodpecker, 
or  between  that  and  the  golden-winged.  I  had  a  good 
view  of  them  with  my  glass  as  long  as  I  desired.  With 
the  back  to  me,  they  were  clear  black  all  above,  as  well 
as  their  feet  and  bills,  and  each  had  a  yellow  or  orange 
(or  possibly  orange-scarlet?)  front  (the  anterior  part 
of  the  head  at  the  base  of  the  upper  mandible).  A 
long  white  line  along  the  side  of  the  head  to  the  neck, 
with  a  black  one  below  it.  The  breast,  as  near  as  I 
could  see,  was  gray  specked  with  white,  and  the  under 
side  of  the  wing  expanded  was  also  gray,  with  small 


PILEATED    WOODPECKER  197 

white  spots.  The  throat  white  and  vent  also  white  or 
whitish.  Is  this  the  arctic  three-toed  ?  ^  Probably  many 
trees  dying  on  this  large  burnt  tract  will  attract  many 
woodpeckers  to  it. 

PILEATED   WOODPECILEE 

July  25,  1857.  Our  path  up  the  bank  here^  led  by  a 
large  dead  white  pine,  in  whose  trunk  near  the  ground 
were  great  square- cornered  holes  made  by  the  wood- 
peckers, probably  the  red-headed.  They  were  seven  or 
eight  inches  long  by  four  wide  and  reached  to  the  heart 
of  the  tree  through  an  inch  or  more  of  sound  wood,  and 
looked  like  great  mortise-holes  whose  corners  had  been 
somewhat  worn  and  rounded  by  a  loose  tenon.  The  tree 
for  some  distance  was  quite  honeycombed  by  them.  It 
suggested  woodpeckers  on  a  larger  scale  than  ours,  as 
were  the  trees  and  the  forest.^ 

flicker;   PIGEON  WOODPECKER 

April  3,  1842.  I  have  just  heard  the  flicker  among 
the  oaks  on  the  hillside  ushering  in  a  new  dynasty.  It 
is  the  age  and  youth  of  time.  Why  did  Nature  set  this 
lure  for  sickly  mortals .?  Eternity  could  not  begin  with 

^  [The  birds  must  have  been  arctic  three-toed  woodpeckers,  though 
Thoreau  misplaces  the  yellow  crown-patch.  This  dpecies,  usually  very 
rare  in  Massachusetts,  visited  the  State  in  considerable  numbers  in  this 
winter  of  1860-1861.] 

2  [On  the  West  Branch  of  the  Penobscot,  Maine.] 

^  [These  mortise-shaped  holes,  found  abundantly  in  the  forests  of 
northern  New  England,  are  the  work  of  the  pileated  woodpecker,  wliich 
Thoreau  saw  and  heard  in  the  Maine  woods,  but  somewhat  hastily  de- 
nominated the  red-headed  woodpecker  from  the  conspicuous  red  crest] 


198     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

more  security  and  momentousness  than  the  spring.  The 
summer's  eternity  is  reestablished  by  this  note.  All 
sisrhts  and  sounds  are  seen  and  heard  both  in  time 
and  eternity.  And  when  the  eternity  of  any  sight  or 
sound  strikes  the  eye  or  ear,  they  are  intoxicated  with 
delight. 

April  23, 1852.  Heard  the  pigeon  woodpecker  to-day, 
that  long-continued  unmusical  note, — somewhat  like  a 
robin's,  heard  afar,  —  yet  pleasant  to  hear  because  as- 
sociated with  a  more  advanced  stage  of  the  season. 

April  6,  1853.  Returning  by  Harrington's,  saw  a 
pigeon  woodpecker  flash  away,  showing  the  rich  golden 
under  side  of  its  glancing  wings  and  the  large  whitish 
spot  on  its  back,  and  presently  I  heard  its  familiar 
long-repeated  loud  note,  almost  familiar  as  that  of  a 
barn-door  fowl,  which  it  somewhat  resembles. 

June  21, 1853.  Where  the  other  day  I  saw  a  pigeon 
woodpecker  tapping  and  enlarging  a  hole  in  the  dead 
limb  of  an  apple  tree,  when  as  yet  probably  no  egg  was 
laid,  to-day  I  see  two  well-grown  young  woodpeckers 
about  as  big  as  the  old,  looking  out  at  the  hole,  show- 
ing their  handsome  spotted  breasts  and  calling  lustily 
for  something  to  eat,  or,  it  may  be,  suffering  from  the 
heat.  Young  birds  in  some  situations  must  suffer 
greatly  from  heat  these  days,  so  closely  packed  in  their 
nests  and  perhaps  insufficiently  shaded.  It  is  a  wonder 
they  remain  so  long  there  patiently.  I  saw  a  yellow- 
bird's  ^  nest  in  the  willows  on  the  causeway  this  after- 
noon and  three  young  birds,  nearly  ready  to  fly,  over- 
flowing the  nest,  all  holding  up  their  open  bills  and 

^  [The  summer  yellowbird,  or  yellow  warbler.] 


FLICKER  199 

keeping  them  steadily  open  for  a  minute  or  more,  on 
noise  of  my  approach. 

Aug.  10,  1854.  That  is  a  peculiar  and  distinct  hol- 
low sound  made  by  the  pigeon  woodpecker's  wings,  as 
it  flies  past  near  you. 

April  23,  1855.  Saw  two  pigeon  woodpeckers  ap- 
proach and,  I  think,  put  their  bills  together  and  utter 
that  0-week,  o-week. 

April  14,  1856.  Hear  the  flicker's  cackle  on  the  old 
aspen,  and  his  tapping  sounds  afar  over  the  water. 
Their  tapping  resounds  thus  far,  with  this  peculiar 
ring  and  distinctness,  because  it  is  a  hollow  tree  they 
select  to  play  on,  as  a  drum  or  tambour.  It  is  a  hollow 
souud  which  rings  distinct  to  a  great  distance,  espe- 
cially over  water. 

April  22, 1856.  Going  through  Hubbard's  root-fence 
field,  see  a  pigeon  woodpecker  on  a  fence-post.  He 
shows  his  lighter  back  between  his  wings  cassock-like 
and  like  the  smaller  woodpeckers.  Joins  his  mate  on  a 
tree  and  utters  the  wooing  note  o-week  o-week,  etc. 

April  27, 1856.  The  tapping  of  a  woodpecker  is  made 
a  more  remarkable  and  emphatic  sound  by  the  hoUow- 
ness  of  the  trunk,  the  expanse  of  water  which  conducts 
the  sound,  and  the  morning  hour  at  which  I  commonly 
hear  it.  I  think  that  the  pigeon  woodpeckers  must  be 
building,  they  frequent  the  old  aspen  now  so  much. 

April  29,  1856.  A  pigeon  woodpecker  alights  on  a 
dead  cedar  top  near  me.  Its  cackle,  thus  near,  sounds 
like  eh  eh  eh  eh  eh,  etc.,  rapidly  and  emphatically  re- 
peated. 

June  10,  1856.  In  a  hollow  apple  tree,  hole  eighteen 


200     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

inclies  deep,  young  pigeon  woodpeckers,  large  and  well 
feathered.  They  utter  their  squeaking  hiss  whenever  I 
cover  the  hole  with  my  hand,  apparently  taking  it  for 
the  approach  of  the  mother.  A  strong,  rank  fetid  smell 
issues  from  the  hole. 

March  17,  1858.  Ah!  there  is  the  note  of  the  first 
flicker,  a  prolonged,  monotonous  wick-wick-wick-wick- 
wick-wick,  etc.,  or,  if  you  please,  quick-quick,  heard  far 
over  and  through  the  dry  leaves.  But  how  that  single 
sound  peoples  and  enriches  all  the  woods  and  fields ! 
They  are  no  longer  the  same  woods  and  fields  that 
they  were.  This  note  really  quickens  what  was  dead.  It 
seems  to  put  a  life  into  withered  grass  and  leaves  and 
bare  twigs,  and  henceforth  the  days  shall  not  be  as  they 
have  been.  It  is  as  when  a  family,  your  neighbors,  re- 
turn to  an  empty  house  after  a  long  absence,  and  you 
hear  the  cheerful  hum  of  voices  and  the  laughter  of 
children,  and  see  the  smoke  from  the  kitchen  fire.  The 
doors  are  thrown  open,  and  children  go  screaming 
through  the  hall.  So  the  flicker  dashes  through  the 
aisles  of  the  grove,  throws  up  a  window  here  and 
cackles  out  it,  and  then  there,  airing  the  house.  It 
makes  its  voice  ring  up-stairs  and  down-stairs,  and  so, 
as  it  were,  fits  it  for  its  habitation  and  ours,  and  takes 
possession.  It  is  as  good  as  a  housewarming  to  all  na- 
ture. Now  I  hear  and  see  him  louder  and  nearer  on  the 
top  of  the  long-armed  white  oak,  sitting  very  upright, 
as  is  their  wont,  as  it  were  calling  for  some  of  his  kind 
that  may  also  have  arrived. 

April  15,  1858.    See  a  pair  of  woodpeckers   on  a 
rail  and  on  the  ground  a-courting.  One  keeps  hopping 


WOODPECKERS  201 

near  the  other,  and  the  latter  hops  away  a  few  feet,  and 
so  they  accompany  one  another  a  long  distance,  utter- 
ing sometimes  a  faint  or  short  a-toeek. 

March  23,  1859.  The  loud  peop  (?)  of  a  pigeon 
woodpecker  is  heard  .  .  .  and  anon  the  prolonged  loud 
and  shrill  cackle^  calling  the  thin-wooded  hillsides  and 
pastures  to  life.  It  is  like  the  note  of  an  alarm-clock 
set  last  fall  so  as  to  wake  Nature  up  at  exactly  this 
date.  Up  up  up  up  up  up  up  up  up  !  What  a  rustling 
it  seems  to  make  among  the  dry  leaves ! 

May  4,  18G0.  As  I  stood  there  I  heard  a  thumping 
sound,  which  I  referred  to  Peter's,  three  quarters  of  a 
mile  off  over  the  meadow,  but  it  was  a  pigeon  wood- 
pecker excavating  its  nest  within  a  maple  within  a  rod 
of  me.  Though  I  had  just  landed  and  made  a  noise 
with  my  boat,  he  was  too  busy  to  hear  me,  but  now  he 
hears  my  tread,  and  I  see  him  put  out  his  head  and  then 
withdraw  it  warily  and  keep  still,  while  I  stay  there. 

[/See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  426.] 

WOODPECKERS  (SPECIES   UNNAMED) 

Jan.  26,  1852,  The  woodpeckers  work  in  Emerson's 
wood  on  the  Cliff-top,  the  trees  being  partly  killed  by 
the  top,  and  the  grubs  having  hatched  under  the  bark. 
The  woodpeckers  have  stripped  a  whole  side  of  some 
trees,  and  in  a  sound  red  oak  they  have  dug  out  a  mor- 
tise-hole with  squarish  shoulders,  as  if  with  a  chisel.  I 
have  often  seen  these  holes. 

March  22,  1853.  The  tapping  of  the  woodpecker, 
rat-tat-tat.,  knocking  at  the  door  of  some  sluggish  grub 
to  tell  him  that  the  spring  has  arrived,  and  his  fate, 


202     NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

this  is  one  of  the  season  sounds,  calling  the  roll  of  birds 
and  insects,  the  reveille. 

May  10, 1853.  How  far  the  woodpecker's  tapping  is 
heard !  And  no  wonder,  for  he  taps  very  hard  as  well  as 
fast,  to  make  a  hole,  and  the  dead,  dry  wood  is  very  re- 
sounding withal.  Now  he  taps  on  one  part  of  the  tree,  and 
it  yields  one  note ;  then  on  that  side,  a  few  inches  distant, 
and  it  yields  another  key ;  propped  on  its  tail  the  while. 

Jan.  6,  1855.  I  see  where  a  woodpecker  has  drilled 
a  hole  about  two  inches  over  in  a  decayed  white  maple  ; 
quite  recently,  for  the  chippings  are  strewn  over  the  ice 
beneath  and  were  the  first  sign  that  betrayed  it.  The 
tree  was  hollow.  Is  it  for  a  nest  next  season  ?  ^  There 
was  an  old  hole  higher  up. 

March  8,  1859.  I  see  there  a  dead  white  pine,  some 
twenty-five  feet  high,  which  has  been  almost  entirely 
stripped  of  its  bark  by  the  woodpeckers.  Where  any 
bark  is  left,  the  space  between  it  and  the  wood  is 
commonly  closely  packed  with  the  gnawings  of  worms, 
which  appear  to  have  consumed  the  inner  bark.  But 
where  the  bark  is  gone,  the  wood  also  is  eaten  to  some 
depth,  and  there  are  numerous  holes  penetrating  deep 
into  the  wood.  Over  all  this  portion,  which  is  almost  all 
the  tree,  the  woodpeckers  have  knocked  off  the  bark 
and  enlarged  the  holes  in  pursuit  of  the  worms. 

March  11,  1859.  But  methinks  the  sound  of  the 
woodpecker  tapping  is  as  much  a  spring  note  as  any 
these  mornings ;  it  echoes  peculiarly  in  the  air  of  a 
spring  morning. 

[/iSee  also  vnder  Robin,  p.  391 ;  General  and  Miscel- 
laneous, p.  431.] 

^  [Probably  for  winter  quarters.] 


XI 
GOATSUCKERS,  SWIFTS,  AND  HUMMINGBIRDS 

WHIP-POOR-WILL 

June  11,  1851.  The  whip-poor-will  suggests  how 
wide  asunder  are  the  woods  and  the  town.  Its  note  is 
very  rarely  heard  by  those  who  live  on  the  street,  and 
then  it  is  thought  to  be  of  ill  omen.  Only  the  dwellers 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  hear  it  occasionally.  It 
sometimes  comes  into  their  yards.  But  go  into  the 
woods  in  a  warm  night  at  this  season,  and  it  is  the  pre- 
vailing sound.  I  hear  now  five  or  six  at  once.  It  is  no 
more  of  ill  omen  therefore  here  than  the  night  and  the 
moonlight  are.  It  is  a  bird  not  only  of  the  woods,  but 
of  the  night  side  of  the  woods. 

New  beings  have  usurped  the  air  we  breathe,  round- 
ing Nature,  filling  her  crevices  with  sound.  To  sleep 
where  you  may  hear  the  whip-poor-will  in  your  dreams ! 

I  hear  some  whip-poor-wills  on  hills,  others  in  thick 
wooded  vales,  which  ring  hollow  and  cavernous,  like  an 
apartment  or  cellar,  with  their  note.  As  when  I  hear 
the  working  of  some  artisan  from  within  an  apart- 
ment. 

June  13,  1851.  It  is  not  nightfall  till  the  whip-poor- 
wills  begin  to  sing. 

June  14,  1851.  From  Conant's  summit  I  hear  as 
many  as  fifteen  whip-poor-wills  —  or  whip-or-I-wills  — 


204     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

at  once,  the  succeeding  cluck  sounding  strangely  for- 
eign, like  a  hewer  at  work  elsewhere. 

Aug.  12,  1851.  There  was  a  whip-poor-will  in  the 
road  just  beyond  Goodwin's,  which  flew  up  and  lighted 
on  the  fence  and  kept  alighting  on  the  fence  within  a 
rod  of  me  and  circling  round  me  with  a  slight  squeak 
as  if  inquisitive  about  me. 

Scjyt.  9, 1851.  The  whip-poor-wills  now  begin  to  sing 
in  earnest  about  half  an  hour  before  sunrise,  as  if  mak- 
ing haste  to  improve  the  short  time  that  is  left  them. 
As  far  as  my  observation  goes,  they  sing  for  several 
hours  in  the  early  part  of  the  night,  are  silent  com- 
monly at  midnight,  —  though  you  may  meet  them  then 
sitting  on  a  rock  or  flitting  silently  about,  —  then  sing 
again  just  before  sunrise. 

\_See  also  wider  Screech  Owl,  p.  173;  Wood 
Thrush,  p.  378.J 

NIGHTHAWK 

June  11,  1851.  I  hear  the  nighthawks  uttering  their 
squeaking  notes  high  in  the  air  now  at  nine  o'clock 
p.  M.,  and  occasionally — what  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  heard  so  late — their  booming  note.  It  sounds 
more  as  if  under  a  cope  than  by  day.  The  sound  is  not 
so  fugacious,  going  off  to  be  lost  amid  the  spheres,  but 
is  echoed  hollowly  to  earth,  making  the  low  roof  of 
heaven  vibrate.  Such  a  sound  is  more  confused  and 
dissipated  by  day. 

,/u7ie  23,  1851.  It  Is  a  pleasant  sound  to  me,  the 
squeaking  and  the  booming  of  nighthawks  flying  over 
high  open  fields  in  the  woods.  They  fly  like  butterflies, 


wnii'-i'OOK-wiT.r,  ox  m:st 


w^^-^-w^m 


[\>. 


V, 


''*fr*:*rvt 


t^-- 


NIGHTHAWK    DISTrUiiKI)    WlllLi:   (  ONKKIM;    KliGS 


NIGIITHAWK  205 

not  to  avoid  birds  of  prey  but,  apparently,  to  secure 
their  own  insect  prey.  There  is  a  particular  part  of  the 
railroad  just  below  the  shanty  where  they  may  be  heard 
and  seen  in  greatest  numbers.  But  often  you  must  look 
a  long  while  before  you  can  detect  the  mote  in  the  sky 
from  which  the  note  proceeds. 

June  1,  1853.  Walking  up  this  side-hill,  I  disturbed 
a  nighthawk  eight  or  ten  feet  from  me,  which  went, 
half  fluttering,  half  hopping,  the  mottled  creature,  like 
a  winged  toad,  as  Nuttall  says  the  French  of  Louisi- 
ana (?)  call  them,^  down  the  hill  as  far  as  I  could  see. 
Without  moving,  I  looked  about  and  saw  its  two  eggs 
on  the  bare  ground,  on  a  slight  shelf  of  the  hill,  on  the 
dead  pine-needles  and  sand,  without  any  cavity  or  nest 
whatever,  very  obvious  when  once  you  had  detected 
them,  but  not  easily  detected  from  their  color,  a  coarse 
gray  formed  of  white  spotted  with  a  bluish  or  slaty 
brown  or  umber, —  a  stone  —  granite  —  color,  like  the 
places  it  selects.  I  advanced  and  put  my  hand  on 
them,  and  while  I  stooped,  seeing  a  shadow  on  the 
ground,  looked  up  and  saw  the  bird,  which  had  flut- 
tered down  the  hill  so  blind  and  helpless,  circling  low 
and  swiftly  past  over  my  head,  showing  the  white  spot 
on  each  wing  in  true  nighthawk  fashion.  When  I  had 
gone  a  dozen  rods,  it  appeared  again  higher  in  the  air, 
with  its  peculiar  flitting,  limping  kind  of  flight,  all 
the  while  noiseless,  and  suddenly  descending,  it  dashed 
at  me  within  ten  feet  of  my  head,  like  an  imp  of  dark- 
ness,  then  swept  away  high  over  the  pond,   dashing 

^  [Nuttall  speaks  of  "the  metaphorical  French  name  of  'Crapaud 
volanSj'  or  Flying  Toad."] 


206     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

now  to  this  side  uow  to  that,  on  different  tacks,  as  if, 
in  pursuit  of  its  prey,  it  had  already  forgotten  its  eggs 
on  the  earth.  I  can  see  how  it  might  easily  come  to  be 
regarded  with  superstitious  awe. 

June  7,  1853.  Visited  my  nighthawk  on  her  nest. 
Could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  when  I  stood  within  seven 
feet  and  beheld  her  sitting  on  her  eggs,  her  head  to 
me.  She  looked  so  Saturnian,  so  one  with  the  earth,  so 
sphinx-like,  a  relic  of  the  reign  of  Saturn  which  Jupiter 
did  not  destroy,  a  riddle  that  might  well  cause  a  man 
to  go  dash  his  head  against  a  stone.  It  was  not  an  act- 
ual living  creature,  far  less  a  winged  creature  of  the  air, 
but  a  figure  in  stone  or  bronze,  a  fanciful  production  of 
art,  like  the  gryphon  or  phoenix.  In  fact,  with  its  breast 
toward  me,  and  owing  to  its  color  or  size  no  bill  per- 
ceptible, it  looked  like  the  end  of  a  brand,  such  as  are 
common  in  a  clearing,  its  breast  mottled  or  alternately 
waved  with  dark  brown  and  gray,  its  flat,  grayish, 
weather-beaten  crown,  its  eyes  nearly  closed,  purposely, 
lest  those  bright  beads  should  betray  it,  with  the  stony 
cunning  of  the  Sphinx.  A  fanciful  work  in  bronze  to 
ornament  a  mantel.  It  was  enough  to  fill  one  with  awe. 
The  sight  of  this  creature  sitting  on  its  eggs  impressed 
me  with  the  venerableness  of  the  globe.  There  was 
nothing  novel  about  it.  All  the  while,  this  seemingly 
sleeping  bronze  sphinx,  as  motionless  as  the  earth,  was 
watching  me  with  intense  anxiety  through  those  narrow 
slits  in  its  eyelids.  Another  step,  and  it  fluttered  down 
the  hill  close  to  the  ground,  with  a  wabbling  motion,  as 
if  touching  the  ground  now  with  the  tip  of  one  wing, 
now  with  the  other,  so  ten  rods  to  the  water,  which  it 


NIGHTHAWK  207 

skimmed  close  over  a  few  rods,  then  rose  and  soared  in 
the  air  above  me.  Wonderful  creature,  which  sits  mo- 
tionless on  its  eggs  on  the  barest,  most  exposed  hills, 
through  pelting  storms  of  rain  or  hail,  as  if  it  were  a 
rock  or  a  part  of  the  earth  itself,  the  outside  of  the 
globe,  with  its  eyes  shut  and  its  wings  folded,  and,  after 
the  two  days'  storm,  when  you  think  it  has  become  a  fit 
symbol  of  the  rheumatism,  it  suddenly  rises  into  the  air 
a  bird,  one  of  the  most  aerial,  supple,  and  graceful  of 
creatures,  without  stiffness  in  its  wings  or  joints !  It  was 
a  fit  prelude  to  meeting  Prometheus  bound  to  his  rock 
on  Caucasus. 

June  17,  1853.  One  of  the  nighthawk's  eggs  is 
hatched.  The  young  is  unlike  any  that  I  have  seen,  ex- 
actly like  a  pinch  of  rabbit's  fur  or  down  of  that  color 
dropped  on  the  ground,  not  two  inches  long,  with  a 
dimpling  or  geometrical  or  somewhat  regular  arrange- 
ment of  minute  feathers  in  the  middle,  destined  to  be- 
come the  wings  and  tail.  Yet  even  it  half  opened  its  eye, 
and  peeped  if  I  mistake  not.  Was  ever  bird  more  com- 
pletely protected,  both  by  the  color  of  its  eggs  and  of  its 
own  body  that  sits  on  them,  and  of  the  young  bird  just 
hatched  ?  Accordingly  the  eggs  and  young  are  rarely 
discovered.  There  was  one  o.g'g  still,  and  by  the  side  of 
it  this  little  pinch  of  down,  flattened  out  and  not  ob- 
served at  first,  and  a  foot  down  the  hill  had  rolled  a  half 
of  the  Q.g^  it  came  out  of.  There  was  no  callowness,  as 
in  the  young  of  most  birds.  It  seemed  a  singular  place 
for  a  bird  to  begin  its  life,  —  to  come  out  of  its  Q^'g^  — 
this  little  pinch  of  down,  —  and  lie  still  on  the  exact  spot 
where  the  2i^^  lay,  on  a  flat  exposed  shelf  on  the  side  of 


208     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

a  bare  hill,  with  nothing  but  the  whole  heavens,  the 
broad  universe  above,  to  brood  it  when  its  mother  was 
away. 

June,  5,  1854.  Now,  just  before  sundown,  a  night- 
hawk  is  circling,  imp-like,  with  undulating,  irregular 
flight  over  the  sprout-land  on  the  Cliff  Hill,  with  an  oc- 
casional squeak  and  showing  the  spots  on  his  wings.  He 
does  not  circle  away  from  this  place,  and  I  associate  him 
with  two  gray  eggs  somewhere  on  the  ground  beneath 
and  a  mate  there  sitting.  This  squeak  and  occasional 
booming  is  heard  in  the  evening  air,  while  the  stillness 
on  the  side  of  tlie  village  makes  more  distinct  the  in- 
creased hum  of  insects. 

May  31,  1856.  As  I  return  in  the  dusk,  many  night- 
hawks,  with  their  great  spotted  wings,  are  circling  low 
over  the  river,  as  the  swallows  were  when  I  went  out. 
They  skim  within  a  rod  of  me.  After  dusk  these  greater 
swallows  come  forth,  and  circle  and  play  about  over  the 
water  like  those  lesser  ones,  or  perhaps  making  a  larger 
circuit,  also  uttering  a  louder  note.  It  would  not  be  safe 
for  such  great  birds  to  fly  so  near  and  familiarly  by 
day. 

May  26,  1857.  As  I  am  going  down  the  footpath 
from  Britton's  camp  to  the  spring,  I  start  a  pair  of 
nighthawks  (they  had  the  white  on  the  wing)  from 
amid  the  dry  leaves  at  the  base  of  a  bush,  a  bunch  of 
sprouts,  and  away  they  flitted  in  zigzag  noiseless  flight 
a  few  rods  through  the  sprout-land,  dexterously  avoid- 
ing the  twigs,  uttering  a  faint  hollow  wJiat^  as  if  made 
by  merely  closing  the  bill,  and  one  alighted  flat  on  a 
stump. 


NIGHTIIAWK  209 

June  2,  1858.*  The  chewink  sang  before  night,  and 
this,  as  I  have  before  observed,  is  a  very  common  bird 
on  mountain-tops.  2  It  seems  to  love  a  cool  atmosphere, 
and  sometimes  lingers  quite  late  with  us.  And  the  wood 
thrush,^  indefinitely  far  or  near,  a  little  more  distant 
and  unseen,  as  great  poets  are.  Early  in  the  evening 
the  nighthawks  were  heard  to  spark  ^  and  boom  over 
these  bare  gray  rocks,  and  such  was  our  serenade  at 
first  as  we  lay  on  our  spruce  bed.  We  were  left  alone 
with  the  nighthawks.  These  withdrawn  bare  rocks  must 
be  a  very  suitable  place  for  them  to  lay  their  eggs,  and 
their  dry  and  unmusical,  yet  supramundane  and  spirit- 
like, voices  and  sounds  gave  fit  expression  to  this  rocky 
mountain  solitude.  It  struck  the  very  key-note  of  the 
stern,  gray,  barren  solitude.  It  was  a  thrumming  of  the 
mountain's  rocky  chords  ;  strains  from  the  music  of 
Chaos,  such  as  were  heard  when  the  earth  was  rent 
and  these  rocks  heaved  up.  Thus  they  went  sparking 
and  booming,  while  we  were  courting  the  first  access  of 
sleep,  and  I  could  imagine  their  dainty  limping  flight, 
circling  over  the  kindred  rock,  with  a  spot  of  white 
quartz  in  their  wings.  No  sound  could  be  more  in 
harmony  with  that  scenery.  Though  common  below,  it 
seemed  peculiarly  proper  here. 

1  [In  camp  near  the  summit  of  Mt.  Monadnock.] 

2  [This  is  true  only  of  the  lower  summits  in  the  latitude  of  New  Eng- 
land. In  "  A  Walk  to  Wachusett "  he  speaks  of  hearing  the  bird  on  or 
near  the  top  of  that  mountain.] 

3  [Probably  either  the  hermit  thrush  or  the  olive-backed  thrush.  See 
note  on  p.  377.] 

*  [Thoreau's  word  for  the  nighthawk's  note,  which  to  most  persons 
sounds  like  speak  or  peent.] 


210     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

June  3,  1858.  Lying  up  there  at  this  season,  when 
the  nighthawk  is  most  musical,  reminded  me  of  what  I 
had  noticed  before,  that  this  bird  is  crepuscular  in  its 
habits.  It  was  heard  by  night  only  up  to  nine  or  ten 
o'clock  and  again  just  before  dawn,  and  marked  those 
periods  or  seasons  like  a  clock.  Its  note  very  conven- 
iently indicated  the  time  of  night.  It  was  sufficient  to 
hear  the  nighthawk  booming  when  you  awoke  to  know 
how  the  night  got  on,  though  you  had  no  other  evidence 
of  the  hour. 

July  17, 1860.  The  nighthawk's  ripping  sound,  heard 
overhead  these  days,  reminds  us  that  the  sky  is,  as  it 
were,  a  roof,  and  that  our  world  is  limited  on  that  side, 
it  being  reflected  as  from  a  roof  back  to  earth.  It  does 
not  suggest  an  infinite  depth  in  the  sky,  but  a  nearness 
to  the  earth,  as  of  a  low  roof  echoing  back  its  sounds. 

Aug.  9,  1800.  But,  above  all,  this*  was  an  excellent 
place  to  observe  the  habits  of  the  nighthawks.  They 
were  heard  and  seen  regularly  at  sunset,  —  one  night  it 
was  at  7.10,  or  exactly  at  sunset,  — coming  upward  from 
the  lower  and  more  shaded  portion  of  the  rocky  surface 
below  our  camp,  with  their  sparh  sparky  soon  answered 
by  a  companion,  for  they  seemed  always  to  hunt  in  pairs, 
— yet  both  would  dive  and  boom  and,  according  to 
Wilson,  only  the  male  utters  this  sound.  They  pursued 
their  game  thus  a  short  distance  apart  and  some  sixty 
or  one  hundred  feet  above  the  gray  rocky  surface,  in 
the  twilight,  and  the  constant  spark  sp)ark  seemed  to  be 
a  sort  of  call-note  to  advertise  each  other  of  their  neigh- 
borhood. Suddenly  one  would  hover  and  flutter  more 

^  [Mt.  Monadnock  again.] 


NIGHTHAWK  211 

stationarlly  for  a  moment,  somewhat  like  a  kingfisher, 
and  then  dive  almost  perpendicularly  downward  with  a 
rush,  for  fifty  feet,  frequently  within  three  or  four  rods 
of  us,  and  the  loud  booming  sound  or  rip  was  made  just 
at  the  curve,  as  it  ceased  to  fall,  but  whether  volunta- 
rily or  involuntarily  I  know  not.  They  appeared  to  be 
diving  for  their  insect  prey.  What  eyes  they  must  have 
to  be  able  to  discern  it  beneath  them  against  the  rocks 
in  the  twilight!  As  I  was  walking  about  the  camp,  one 
flew  low,  within  two  feet  of  the  surface,  about  me,  and 
lit  on  the  rock  within  three  rods  of  me,  and  uttered  a 
harsh  note  like  c-o-w,  c-o-w,  —  hard  and  gritty  and  al- 
lied to  their  common  notes,  —  which  I  thought  expres- 
sive of  anxiety,  or  to  alarm  me,  or  for  its  mate. 

I  suspect  that  their  booming  on  a  distant  part  of  the 
mountain  was  the  sound  which  I  heard  the  first  night 
which  was  like  very  distant  thunder,  or  the  fall  of  a 
pile  of  lumber. 

They  did  not  fly  or  boom  when  there  was  a  cloud  or 
fog,  and  ceased  pretty  early  in  the  night.  They  came 
up  from  the  same  quarter  —  the  shaded  rocks  below  — 
each  night,  two  of  them,  and  left  off  booming  about  8 
o'clock.  Whether  they  then  ceased  hunting  or  withdrew 
to  another  part  of  the  mountaiu,  I  know  not.  Yet  I  heard 
one  the  first  night  at  11.30  p.  M.,  but,  as  it  had  been  a 
rainy  day  and  did  not  clear  up  here  till  some  time  late 
in  the  night,  it  may  have  been  compelled  to  do  its  hunt- 
ing then.  They  began  to  boom  again  at  4  A.  M.  (other 
birds  about  4.30)  and  ceased  about  4.20.  By  their  color 
they  are  related  to  the  gray  rocks  over  which  they  flit 
and  circle. 


212     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

CHIMNEY   SWIFT;   CHIMNEY   SWALLOW 

July  29,  1856.  Pratt  gave  me  a  chimney  swallow's 
nest,  which  he  says  fell  down  Wesson's  chimney  with 
young  in  it  two  or  three  days  ago.  As  it  comes  to  me, 
it  is  in  the  form  of  the  segment  of  the  circumference 
of  a  sphere  whose  diameter  is  three  and  a  half  inches, 
the  segment  being  two  plus  wide,  one  side,  of  course, 
longer  than  the  other.  It  bears  a  little  soot  on  the  inner 
side.  It  may  have  been  placed  against  a  slanting  part 
of  the  chimney,  or  perhaps  some  of  the  outer  edge  is 
broken  off.  It  is  composed  wholly  of  stout  twigs,  one 
to  two  inches  long,  one  sixteenth  to  one  eighth  inch  in 
diameter,  held  quasi  cob-fashion,  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of 
basketwork  one  third  to  one  half  inch  thick,  without  any 
lining,  at  least  in  this,  but  very  open  to  the  air.  These 
twigs,  which  are  quite  knubby,  seem  to  be  of  the  apple, 
elm,  and  the  like,  and  are  firmly  fastened  together  by  a 
very  conspicuous  whitish  semi-transparent  glue,  which 
is  laid  on  pretty  copiously,  sometimes  extending  con- 
tinuously one  inch.  It  reminds  me  of  the  edible  nests  of 
the  Chinese  swallow.  Who  knows  but  their  edibleness 
is  due  to  a  similar  glue  secreted  by  the  bird  and  used 
still  more  profusely  in  building  its  nests  ?  The  chimney 
swallow  is  said  to  break  off  the  twigs  as  it  flies. 

Aug.  23,  1856.  J.  Farmer  says  that  he  found  that 
the  gummed  twig  of  a  chimney  swallow's  nest,  though 
it  burned  when  held  in  a  flame,  went  out  immediately 
when  taken  out  of  it,  and  he  thinks  it  owing  to  a  pecul- 
iarity in  the  gum,  rendering  the  twig  partly  fire-proof, 
so  that  they  cannot  be  ignited  by  the  sparks  in  a  chim- 


RUBY-THROATED   HUMMINGBIRD     213 

ney.  I  suggested  that  these  swallows  had  origiually 
built  in  hollow  trees,  but  it  would  be  interesting  to  as- 
certain whether  they  constructed  their  nests  in  the  same 
way  and  of  the  same  material  then. 

\_Seealso  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  419.] 

RUBY-THROATED   HUMMINGBIRD 

May  17,  1856.  Meanwhile  I  hear  a  loud  hum  and 
see  a  splendid  male  hummingbird  coming  zigzag  in  long 
tacks,  like  a  bee,  but  far  swifter,  along  the  edge  of  the 
swamp,  in  hot  haste.  He  turns  aside  to  taste  the  honey 
of  the  Andromeda  calyculata  ^  (already  visited  by  bees) 
within  a  rod  of  me.  This  golden-green  gem.  Its  bur- 
nished b^ck  looks  as  if  covered  with  green  scales  dusted 
with  gold.  It  hovers,  as  it  were  stationary  in  the  air, 
with  an  intense  humming  before  each  little  flower-bell  of 
the  humble  Andromeda  calyculata^  and  inserts  its  long 
tongue  in  each,  turning  toward  me  that  splendid  ruby 
on  its  breast,  that  glowing  ruby.  Even  this  is  coal-black 
in  some  lights !  There,  along  with  me  in  the  deep,  wild 
swamp,  above  the  andromeda,  amid  the  spruce.  Its  hum 
was  heard  afar  at  first,  like  that  of  a  large  bee,  bringing 
a  larger  summer.  This  sight  and  sound  would  make  me 
think  I  was  in  the  tropics, — in  Demerara  or  Maracaibo. 

May  29,  1857.  Soon  I  hear  the  low  all-pervading 
hum  of  an  approaching  hummingbird  circling  above 
the  rock,  which  afterward  I  mistake  several  times  for 
the  gruff  voices  of  men  approaching,  unlike  as  these 
sounds  are  in  some  respects,  and  I  perceive  the  resem- 

^  [The  Cassandra,  or  leather-leaf,  now  known  to  botanists  as  •ChanuE- 
daphne  calyculata.^ 


214     NOTES   ON   NEW    ENGLAND    lUKDS 

blance  even  when  I  know  better.  Now  I  am  sure  it  is  a 
hummingbird,  and  now  that  it  is  two  farmers  approach- 
ing. But  presently  the  hum  becomes  more  sharp  and 
thrilling,  and  the  little  fellow  suddenly  perches  on  an  ash 
twig  within  a  rod  of  me,  and  plumes  himself  while  the 
rain  is  fairly  beginning.  lie  is  quite  out  of  proportion  to 
the  size  of  his  perch.  It  does  not  acknowledge  his  weight. 

May  16, 1858.  A  hummingbird  yesterday  came  into 
the  next  house  and  was  caught.  Flew  about  our  parlor 
to-day  and  tasted  Sophia's  flowers.  In  some  lights  you 
saw  none  of  the  colors  of  its  throat.  In  others,  in  the 
shade  the  throat  was  a  clear  bright  scarlet,  but  in  the 
sun  it  glowed  with  sjdendid  matuWic,  Jiery  reflections 
aVjout  the  neck  and  throat.  It  uttered  from  time  to  time, 
as  it  flew,  a  faint  squeaking  chirp  or  chirrup.  The  hum 
sounded  more  hollow  when  it  approached  a  flower.  Its 
wings  fanned  the  air  so  forcibly  that  you  felt  the  cool 
wind  they  raised  a  foot  off,  and  nearer  it  was  very  re- 
markable. Does  not  this  very  motion  of  the  wings  keep 
a  bird  cool  in  hot  weather? 

Mayll,  1858.  When  the  hummingbird  flew  about  the 
room  yesterday,  his  body  and  tail  hung  in  a  singular 
manner  l>etween  the  wings,  swinging  ba<;k  and  forth 
with  a  sort  of  oscillating  motion,  not  hanging  directly 
down,  but  yet  pulsating  or  teetering  up  and  down. 

July  9,  1860.  There  is  a  smart  shower  at  5  p.  m., 
and  in  the  midst  of  it  a  hummingbird  is  busy  about  the 
flowers  in  the  garden,  unmindful  of  it,  though  you  would 
think  that  each  Vjig  drop  that  struck  him  would  be  a 
serious  accident. 

\_See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  423.] 


XII 
FLYCATCHERS 

KINGBIRD 

July  16, 1851.  I  hear  the  kingbird  twittering  or  chat- 
tering like  a  stout-chested  swallow. 

May  29,  1853.  How  still  the  hot  noon !  People  have 
retired  behind  blinds.  Yet  the  kingbird  —  lively  bird, 
with  white  belly  and  tail  edged  with  white,  and  with 
its  lively  twittering  —  stirs  and  keeps  the  air  brisk. 

June  2,  1854.  Are  these  not  kingbird  days,  when,  in 
clearer  first  June  days  full  of  light,  this  aerial,  twitter- 
ing bird  flutters  from  willow  to  willow  and  swings  on 
the  twigs,  showing  his  white-edged  tail? 

June  5,  1854.  I  see  at  a  distance  a  kingbird  or  black- 
bird pursuing  a  crow  lower  down  the  hill,  like  a  satel- 
lite revolving  about  a  black  planet. 

June  14,  1855.  A  kingbird's  nest  with  four  eggs  on 
a  large  horizontal  stem  or  trunk  of  a  black  willow,  four 
feet  high,  over  the  edge  of  the  river,  amid  small  shoots 
from  the  willow ;  outside  of  niikania,  roots,  and  knotty 
sedge,  well  lined  with  root-fibres  and  wiry  weeds. 

Jan.  2(J,  1856.  A  probable  kingbird's  nest,  on  a  small 
horizontal  branch  of  a  young  swamp  white  oak,  amid 
the  twigs,  about  ten  feet  from  ground.  This  tree  is  very 
scraggy ;  has  numerous  short  twigs  at  various  angles 
with  tlie  branches,  making  it  unpleasant  to  climb  and 
affording  support  to  birds'  nests.  The  nest  is  round, 


216     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

running  to  rather  a  sharp  point  on  one  side  beneath. 
Extreme  diameter  outside,  four  and  a  half  to  five 
inches ;  within,  three  inches ;  depth  within,  two  inches ; 
without,  four  or  more.  The  principal  materials  are  ten, 
in  the  order  of  their  abundance  thus  :  — 

1.  Reddish  and  gray  twigs,  some  a  foot  and  more  in 
length,  which  are  cranberry  vines,  with  now  and  then 
a  leaf  on,  probably  such  as  were  torn  up  by  the  rakers. 
Some  are  as  big  round  as  a  knitting-needle,  and  would 
be  taken  for  a  larger  bush.  These  make  the  stiff' mass 
of  the  outside  above  and  rim. 

2.  Woody  roots,  rather  coarser,  intermixed  from 
waterside  shrubs.  Probably  some  are  from  cranberry 
vines.  These  are  mixed  with  the  last  and  with  the  bot- 
tom. 

3.  Softer  and  rather  smaller  roots  and  root-fibres  of 
herbaceous  plants,  mixed  with  the  last  and  a  little  fur- 
ther inward,  for  the  harshest  are  always  most  external. 

4.  (Still  to  confine  myself  to  the  order  of  abundance) 
withered  flowers  and  short  bits  of  the  graj'^  downy  stems 
of  the  fragrant  everlasting ;  these  more  or  less  com- 
pacted and  apparently  agglutinated  from  the  mass  of 
the  solid  bottom,  and  more  loose,  with  the  stems  run 
down  to  a  point  on  one  side  the  bottom. 

5.  What  I  think  is  the  fibrous  growth  of  a  willow, 
moss-like  with  a  wiry  dark-colored  hair-like  stem  (pos- 


sibly  it  is  a  moss).  This,  with  or  without  the  tuft,  is  the 
lining,  and  lies  contiguous  in  the  sides  and  bottom. 


KINGBIED  217 

6.  What  looks  like  brown  decayed  leaves  and  con- 
fervas from  the  dried  bottom  of  the  riverside,  mixed 
with  the  everlasting-tops  internally  in  the  solid  bottom. 

7.  Some  finer  brown  root-fibres,  chiefly  between  the 
lining  of  No.  6  and  hair  and  the  coarser  fibres  of 
No.  3. 

8.  A  dozen  whitish  cocoons,  mixed  with  the  ever- 
lasting-tops and  dangling  about  the  bottom  peak  ex- 
ternally ;  a  few  within  the  solid  bottom.  Also  eight  or 
ten  very  minute  cocoons  mixed  with  these,  attached  in 
a  cluster  to  the  top  of  an  everlasting. 

9.  A  few  black  much  branched  roots  (?)  (perhaps 
some  utricularia  from  the  dried  bottom  of  river),  mixed 
with  Nos.  2  and  3. 

10.  Some  horsehair,  white  and  black,  together  with 
No.  5  forming  the  lining. 

There  are  also,  with  the  cocoons  and  everlasting- 
tops  externally,  one  or  two  cotton-grass  heads,  one 
small  white  feather,  and  a  little  greenish-fuscous  moss 
from  the  button-bush,  and,  in  the  bottom,  a  small  shred 
of  grape-vine  bark. 

Aug.  5,  1858.  [The  black  willows  on  the  river- 
banks]  resound  still  with  the  sprightly  twitter  of  the 
kingbird,  that  aerial  and  spirited  bird  hovering  over 
them,  swallow-like,  which  loves  best,  methinks,  to  fly 
where  the  sky  is  reflected  beneath  him.  Also  now  from 
time  to  time  you  hear  the  chattering  of  young  blackbirds 
or  the  li7ik  of  bobolinks  there,  or  see  the  great  bittern 
flap  slowly  away.  The  kingbird,  by  his  activity  and 
lively  note  and  his  white  breast,  keeps  the  air  sweet. 
He  sits  now  on  a  dead  willow  twig,  akin  to  the  flecks 


218     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

of  mackerel  sky,  or  its  reflection  in  the  water,  or  the 
white  clamshell,  wrong  side  out,  opened  by  a  musquash, 
or  the  fine  particles  of  white  quartz  that  may  be  found 
in  the  muddy  river's  sand.  He  is  here  to  give  a  voice  to 
all  these.  The  willow's  dead  twig  is  aerial  perch  enough 
for  him.  Even  the  swallows  deign  to  perch  on  it. 

Aug.  6,  1858.  If  our  sluggish  river,  choked  with 
potamogeton,  might  seem  to  have  the  slow-flying  bit- 
tern for  its  peculiar  genius,  it  has  also  the  sprightly  and 
aerial  kingbird  to  twitter  over  and  lift  our  thoughts  to 
clouds  as  white  as  its  own  breast. 

Aug.  7,  1858.  The  sprightly  kingbird  glances  and 
twitters  above  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  swamp  white  oak. 
Perchance  this  .tree,  with  its  leaves  glossy  above  and 
whitish  beneath,  best  expresses  the  life  of  the  kingbird 
and  is  its  own  tree. 

PHCEBE;    PEWEE 

April  2,  1852.  What  ails  the  pewee's  tail?  It  is 
loosely  hung,  pulsating  with  life.  What  mean  these 
wag-tail  birds?  Cats  and  dogs,  too,  express  some  of 
their  life  through  their  tails. 

For  a  long  distance,  as  we  paddle  up  the  river,  we 
hear  the  two-stanza'd  lay  of  the  pewee  on  the  shore, — 
pee-wet^  pee-wee,  etc.  Those  are  the  two  obvious  facts 
to  eye  and  ear,  the  river  and  the  pewee. 

April  11,  1852.  As  I  go  over  the  railroad  bridge,  I 
hear  the  pewee  singing  pewet  pewee,  pee-wet  jjee-wee. 
The  last  time  rising  on  the  last  syllable,  sometimes  re- 
peating it  thus  many  times,  pe-ioee. 


PHCEBE  219 

April  6,  1856.  Just  beyond  Wood's  Bridge,  I  hear 
the  pewee.  With  what  confidence  after  the  lajjse  of 
many  months,  I  come  out  to  this  waterside,  some  warm 
and  pleasant  spring  morning,  and,  listening,  hear,  from 
farther  or  nearer,  through  the  still  concave  of  the  air, 
the  note  of  the  first  pewee !  If  there  is  one  within  half 
a  mile,  it  will  be  here,  and  I  shall  be  sure  to  hear  its 
simple  notes  from  those  trees,  borne  over  the  water. 
It  is  remarkable  how  large  a  mansion  of  the  air  you 
can  explore  with  your  ears  in  the  still  morning  by  the 
waterside. 

April  1,  1859.  At  the  Pokelogan  *  up  the  Assabet, 
I  see  my  first  phcebe,  the  mild  bird.  It  flirts  its  tail 
and  sings  pre  vit,  pre  vit,  pre  vit,  pre  vit  incessantly, 
as  it  sits  over  the  water,  and  then  at  last,  rising  on  the 
last  syllable,  says  pre-YEis.,  as  if  insisting  on  that  with 
peculiar  emphasis. 

May  5,  1860.  See  at  Lee's  a  pewee  (phoebe)  build- 
ing. She  has  just  woven  in,  or  laid  on  the  edge,  a  fresh 
sprig  of  saxifrage  in  flower.  I  notice  that  phoebes  will 
build  in  the  same  recess  in  a  cliff  year  after  year.  It 
is  a  constant  thing  here,  though  they  are  often  dis- 
turbed. Think  how  many  pewees  must  have  built 
under  the  eaves  of  this  cliff  since  pewees  were  created 
and  this  cliff  itself  built !  You  can  possibly  find  the 

^  [A  term  evidently  imported  by  Thoreau  from  Maine,  where  he 
learned  it  from,  the  loggers  and  Indians.  It  is  used  to  signify  a  little 
bay  in  the  river-shore  which  leads  nowhere  and  is  perhaps  derived 
from  "  poke  "  (=  pouch  or  pocket)  and  "  logan,"  a  bay-like  inlet  to  the 
river.  "  Logan  "  is  supposed  to  be  a  corruption  of  the  word  "lagoon." 
Thoreau  supposed  "  pokelogan  "  to  be  an  Indian  word,  but  his  Indian 
guide  told  him  there  was  "  no  Indian  in  'em."] 


220     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

crumbling  relics  of  how  many,  if  you  should  look  care- 
fully enough !  It  takes  us  many  years  to  find  out  that 
Nature  repeats  herself  annually.  But  how  perfectly 
regular  and  calculable  all  her  phenomena  must  appear 
to  a  mind  that  has  observed  her  for  a  thousand  years ! 
• 

OLIVE-SIDED    FLYCATCHER  ;    PE-PE 

JuTie  6,  1857.  As  I  sit  on  Lee's  Cliff,  I  see  a  pe-pe^ 
on  the  topmost  dead  branch  of  a  hickory  eight  or  ten 
rods  off.  Regularly,  at  short  intervals,  it  utters  its 
monotonous  note  like  till-till-till,  or  pe-pe-pe.  Looking 
round  for  its  prey  and  occasionally  changing  its  perch, 
it  every  now  and  then  darts  off  (phoebe-like),  even  five 
or  six  rods,  toward  the  earth  to  catch  an  insect,  and 
then  returns  to  its  favorite  perch.  If  I  lose  it  for  a 
moment,  I  soon  see  it  settling  on  the  dead  twigs  again 
and  hear  its  till^  till,  till.  It  appears  through  the  glass 
mouse-colored  above  and  head  (which  is  perhaps 
darker),  white  throat,  and  narrow  white  beneath,  with 
no  white  on  tail. 

WOOD    PEWEE 

May  22,  1854.  I  hear  also  pe-a-wee  pe-a-wee,  and 
then  occasionally  pee-yu,  the  first  syllable  in  a  differ- 
ent and  higher  key,  emphasized,  —  all  very  sweet  and 
naive  and  innocent. 

May  23,  1854.  The  wood  pewee  sings  now  in  the 
woods  behind  the  spring  in  the  heat  of  the  day  (2  p.  m.), 

^  [This  is  one  of  Nuttall's  names  for  the  olive-sided  flycatcher.  He 
indicated  the  pronunciation  thus  :  pe-pe.  Thoreau  had  met  with  the 
bird  in  the  spring  migrations  of  the  two  preceding  years.] 


\ 


WOOD   PEWEE  221 

sitting  on  a  low  limb  near  me,  pe-a-wee,  pe-a-wee^  etc., 
five  or  six  times  at  short  and  regular  intervals,  look- 
ing about  all  the  while,  and  then,  naively,  ^>ee-a-oo, 
emphasizing  the  first  syllable,  and  begins  again.  The 
last  is,  in  emphasis,  like  the  scream  of  a  hen-hawk.  It 
flies  off  occasionally  a  few  feet,  and  catches  an  insect 
and  returns  to  its  perch  between  the  bars,  not  allow- 
ing this  to  interrupt  their  order. 

Jkme  27,  1858.  Find  two  wood  pewees'  nests,  made 
like  the  one  I  have.  One  on  a  dead  horizontal  limb  of 
a  small  oak,  fourteen  feet  from  ground,  just  on  a  hori- 
zontal fork  and  looking  as  old  as  the  limb,  color  of  the 
branch,  three  eggs  far  advanced.  The  other,  with  two 
eggs,  was  in  a  similar  position  exactly  over  a  fork,  but 
on  a  living  branch  of  a  slender  white  oak,  eighteen  feet 
from  ground ;  lichens  without,  then  pine-needles,  lined 
with  usnea,  willow  down.  Both  nests  three  to  five  feet 
from  main  stem. 

Aug.  13,  1858.  I  come  to  get  the  now  empty  nests  of 
the  wood  pewees  found  June  27th.  In  each  case,  on 
approaching  the  spot,  I  hear  the  sweet  note  of  a  pewee 
lingering  about,  and  this  alone  would  have  guided  me 
within  four  or  five  rods.  I  do  not  know  why  they 
should  linger  near  the  empty  nest,  but  perhaps  they 
have  built  again  near  there  or  intend  to  use  the  same 
nest  again  (?).  Their  full  strain  \s  pe-ah-ee'  (perhaps 
repeated),  rising  on  the  last  syllable  and  emphasizing 
that,  then  pe'-ee^  emphasizing  the  first  and  falling  on 
the  last,  all  very  sweet  and  rather  plaintive,  suggesting 
innocence  and  confidence  in  you.  In  this  case  the  bird 
uttered  only  its  last  strain,  regularly  at  intervals. 


222     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

These  two  pewee  nests  are  remarkably  alike  in  their 
position  and  composition  and  form,  though  half  a  mile 
apart.  They  are  both  placed  on  a  horizontal  branch 
of  a  young  oak  (one  about  fourteen,  the  other  about 
eighteen,  feet  from  ground)  and  three  to  five  feet  from 
main  trunk,  in  a  young  oak  wood.  Both  rest  directly 
on  a  horizontal  fork,  and  such  is  their  form  and  com- 
position that  they  have  almost  precisely  the  same  color 
and  aspect  from  below  and  from  above. 

The  first  is  on  a  dead  limb,  very  much  exposed,  is 
three  inches  in  diameter  outside  to  outside,  and  two 
inches  in  diameter  within,  the  rim  being  about  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  thick,  and  it  is  now  one  inch  deep  within. 
Its  framework  is  white  pine  needles,  especially  in  the 
rim,  and  a  very  little  fine  grass  stem,  covered  on  the 
rim  and  all  without  closely  with  small  bits  of  lichen 
(cetraria  ?),  slate-colored  without  and  blackish  beneath, 
and  some  brown  caterpillar  (?)  or  cocoon  (?)  silk  with 
small  seed-vessels  in  it.  They  are  both  now  thin  and 
partially  open  at  the  bottom,  so  that  I  am  not  sure  they 
contain  all  the  original  lining.  This  one  has  no  distinct 
lining,  unless  it  is  a  very  little  green  usnea  amid  the 
loose  pine-needles.  The  lichens  of  the  nest  would  readily 
be  confounded  with  the  lichens  of  the  limb.  Looking 
down  on  it,  it  is  a  remarkably  round  and  neat  nest. 

The  second  nest  is  rather  more  shallow  now  and 
half  an  inch  wider  without,  is  lined  with  much  more 
usnea  (the  willow  down  which  I  saw  in  it  June  27  is 
gone;  perhaps  they  cast  it  out  in  warm  weather !),  and 
shows  a  little  of  some  slender  brown  catkin  (oak  ?)  be- 
neath, witliout. 


WOOD   PEWEE  223 

These  nests  remind  me  of  what  I  suppose  to  be  the 
yellow-throat  vireo's  and  hummingbird's.  The  lining  of 
a  nest  is  not  in  good  condition  —  perhaps  is  partly  gone 
—  when  the  birds  have  done  with  it. 

Aiig.  14,  1858.  The  more  characteristic  notes  [of 
late]  would  appear  to  be  the  wood  pewee's  and  the 
goldfinch's,  with  the  squeal  of  young  hawks.  These 
might  be  called  the  pewee-days. 

Aug.  18,  1858.  I  sit  under  the  oaks  at  the  east  end 
of  Hubbard's  Grove,  and  hear  two  wood  pewees  sing- 
ing close  by.  They  are  perched  on  dead  oak  twigs  four 
or  five  rods  apart,  and  their  notes  are  so  exactly  alike 
that  at  first  I  thought  there  was  but  one.  One  appeared 
to  answer  the  other,  and  sometimes  they  both  sung  to- 
gether,—  even  as  if  the  old  were  teaching  her  young. 
It  was  not  the  usual  spring  note-  of  this  bird,  but  a 
simple,  clear  pe-e-eet,  rising  steadily  with  one  impulse 
to  the  end.  They  were  undistinguishable  in  tone  and 
rhythm,  though  one  which  I  thought  might  be  the 
young  was  feebler.  In  the  meanwhile,  as  it  was  perched 
on  the  twig,  it  was  incessantly  turning  its  head  about, 
looking  for  insects,  and  suddenly  would  dart  aside  or 
downward  a  rod  or  two,  and  I  could  hear  its  bill  snap 
as  it  caught  one.  Then  it  returned  to  the  same  or  an- 
other perch. 


XIII 
LARKS,  CROWS,  AND  JAYS     / 

SHORE   LARK 

March  24, 1858.  Returning  about  5  p.  m.  across  the 
Depot  Field,  I  scare  up  from  the  ground  a  flock  of 
about  twenty  birds,  which  fly  low,  making  a  short  cir- 
cuit to  another  part  of  the  field.  At  first  they  remind  me 
of  bay-wings,  except  that  they  are  in  a  flock,  show  no 
white  in  tail,  are,  I  ^ee,  a  little  larger,  and  utter  a  faint 
sveet  sveet  merely,  a  sort  of  sibilant  chip.  Starting  them 
again,  I  see  that  they  have  black  tails,  very  conspicuous 
when  they  pass  near.  They  fly  in  a  flock  somewhat  like 
snow  buntings,  occasionally  one  surging  upward  a  few 
feet  in  pursuit  of  another,  and  they  alight  about  where 
they  first  were.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  discover  them 
on  the  ground,  they  squat  so  flat  and  so  much  resemble 
it,  running  amid  the  stubble.  But  at  length  I  stand 
within  two  rods  of  one  and  get  a  good  view  of  its  mark- 
ings with  my  glass.  They  are  the  Alauda  alpestris,^ 
or  shore  lark,  quite  a  sizable  and  handsome  bird. 

Oct.  4,  1859.  Going  over  the  large  hillside  stubble- 
field  west  of  Holden  Wood,  I  start  up  a  large  flock  of 
shore  larks  ;  hear  their  sveet  sveet  and  sveet  .sveet  sveet^ 
and  see  their  tails  dark  beneath.  They  are  very  wary, 
and  run  in  the  stubble  for  the  most  part  invisible,  while 
one  or  two  appear  to  act  the  sentinel  on  rock,  peeping 
^  [Now  called  Otocoris  alpestris.] 


BLUE  JAY  226 

out  behind  it  perhaps,  and  give  their  note  of  alarm, 
when  away  goes  the  whole  flock.  Such  a  flock  circled 
back  and  forth  several  times  over  my  head,  just  like 
ducks  reconnoitring  before  they  alight.  If  you  look 
with  a  glass  you  are  surprised  to  see  how  alert  these 
spies  are.  When  they  alight  in  some  stubbly  hollow 
they  set  a  watch  or  two  on  the  rocks  to  look  out  for 
foes.    They  have  dusky  bills  and  legs. 

BLUE  JAY 

1846-47.^  The  blue  jays  suffered  few  chestnuts  to 
reach  the  ground,  resorting  to  your  single  tree  in  flocks 
in  the  early  morning,  and  picking  them  out  of  the  burs 
at  a  great  advantage. 

Nov.  16,  1850.  I  hear  deep  amid  the  birches  some 
row  among  the  birds  or  the  squirrels,  where  evidently 
some  mystery  is  being  developed  to  them.  The  jay  is 
on  the  alert,  mimicking  every  woodland  note.  What 
has  happened  ?  Who 's  dead  ?  The  twitter  retreats  be- 
fore you,  and  you  are  never  let  into  the  secret.  Some 
tragedy  surely  is  being  enacted,  but  murder  will  out. 
How  many  little  dramas  are  enacted  in  the  depth  of 
the  woods  at  which  man  is  not  present ! 

Dec.  31,  1850.  The  blue  jays  evidently  notify  each 
other  of  the  presence  of  an  intruder,  and  will  some- 
times make  a  great  chattering  about  it,  and  so  com- 
municate the  alarm  to  other  birds  and  to  beasts. 

July  8,  1852.  The  jay's  note,  resounding  along  a 
raw  wood-side,  suggests  a  singular  wildness. 

Feh.  2, 1854.   The  scream  of  the  jay  is  a  true  winter 

^  [Undated  entry  in  journal  of  this  period.] 


226    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

sound.  It  is  wholly  without  sentiment,  and  in  harmony 
with  winter.  I  stole  up  within  five  or  six  feet  of  a  pitch 
pine  behind  which  a  downy  woodpecker  was  pecking. 
From  time  to  time  he  hopped  round  to  the  side  and  ob- 
served me  without  fear.  They  are  very  confident  birds, 
not  easily  scared,  but  incline  to  keep  the  other  side  of 
the  bough  to  you,  pei'haps. 

Feb.  12, 1854.  You  hear  the  lisping  tinkle  of  chick- 
adees from  time  to  time  and  the  unrelenting  steel-cold 
scream  of  a  jay,  unmelted,  that  never  flows  into  a  song, 
a  sort  of  wintry  trumpet,  screaming  cold  ;  hard,  tense, 
frozen  music,  like  the  winter  sky  itself ;  in  the  blue  livery 
of  winter's  band.  It  is  like  a  flourish  of  trumpets  to  the 
winter  sky.  There  is  no  hint  of  incubation  in  the  jay's 
scream.   Like  the  creak  of  a  cart-wheel. 

March  12,  1854.  I  hear  a  jay  loudly  screaming  j^Ae- 
phay  phe-phay,  —  a  loud,  shrill  chickadee's  phehe. 

March  10,  1856.  The  pinched  crows  are  feeding  in 
the  road  to-day  in  front  of  the  house  and  alighting  on 
the  elms,  and  blue  jays  also,  as  in  the  middle  of  the 
hardest  winter,  for  such  is  this  weather.  The  blue  jays 
hop  about  in  yards.' 

June  5,  1856.  A  blue  jay's  nest  on  a  white  pine, 
eight  feet  from  ground,  next  to  the  stem,  of  twigs  lined 
with  root-fibres ;  three  fresh  eggs,  dark  dull  greenish, 
with  dusky  spots  equally  distributed  all  over,  in  Hos- 
mer  ( ?)  pines  twenty-seven  paces  east  of  wall  and 
fifty-seven  from  factory  road  by  wall.  Jay  screams  as 
usual.    Sat  till  I  got  within  ten  feet  at  first. 

*  [The  jay  is  not  so  terrestrial  in  its  habits  as  the  crow  and  therefoife, 
unlike  its  relative,  is  a  hopper,  not  a  walker.] 


BLUE  JAY  227 

Oct.  11,  1856.  In  the  woods  I  hear  the  note  of  the 
jay,  a  metallic,  clanging  sound,  sometimes  a  mew.  Re- 
fer any  strange  note  to  him. 

Oct.  5, 1857.  There  is  not  that  profusion  and  conse- 
quent confusion  of  events  which  belongs  to  a  summer's 
walk.  There  are  few  flowers,  birds,  insects,  or  fruits 
now,  and  hence  what  does  occur  affects  us  as  more 
simple  and  significant.  The  cawing  of  a  crow,  the 
scream  of  a  jay.  The  latter  seems  to  scream  more  fitly 
and  with  more  freedom  now  that  some  fallen  maple 
leaves  have  made  way  for  his  voice.  The  jay's  voice 
resounds  through  the  vacancies  occasioned  by  fallen 
maple  leaves. 

Nov.  3,  1858.  The  jay  is  the  bird  of  October.  I 
have  seen  it  repeatedly  flitting  amid  the  bright  leaves, 
of  a  different  color  from  them  all  and  equally  bright, 
and  taking  its  flight  from  grove  to  grove.  It,  too,  with 
its  bright  color,  stands  for  some  ripeness  in  the  bird 
harvest.  And  its  scream !  it  is  as  if  it  blowed  on  the 
edsfe  of  an  October  leaf.  It  is  never  more  in  its  element 
and  at  home  than  when  flitting  amid  these  brilliant 
colors.  No  doubt  it  delights  in  bright  color,  and  so  has 
begged  for  itself  a  brilliant  coat.  It  is  not  gathering 
seeds  from  the  sod,  too  busy  to  look  around,  while  flee- 
ing the  country.  It  is  wide  awake  to  what  is  going  on, 
on  the  qui  vive.  It  flies  to  some  bright  tree  and  bruits 
its  splendors  abroad. 

JVov.  10,  1858.  Hearing  in  the  oak  and  near  by  a 
sound  as  if  some  one  had  broken  a  twig,  I  looked  up 
and  saw  a  jay  pecking  at  an  acorn.  There  were  several 
jays  busily  gathering  acorns  on  a  scarlet  oak.  I  could 


228     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

hear  them  break  them  off.  They  then  flew  to  a  suitable 
limb  and,  placing  the  acorn  under  one  foot,  hammered 
away  at  it  busily,  looking  round  from  time  to  time  to 
see  if  any  foe  was  approaching,  and  soon  reached  the 
meat  and  nibbled  at  it,  holding  up  their  heads  to  swal- 
low, while  they  held  it  very  firmly  with  their  claws. 
(Their  hammering  made  a  sound  like  the  woodpeck- 
er's.) Nevertheless  it  sometimes  dropped  to  the  ground 
before  they  had  done  with  it. 

JV^ov.  13,  1858.  I  see  some  feathers  of  a  blue  jay 
scattered  along  a  wood-path,  and  at  length  come  to  the 
body  of  the  bird.  What  a  neat  and  delicately  orna- 
mented creature,  finer  than  any  work  of  art  in  a  lady's 
boudoir,  with  its  soft  light  purplish-blue  crest  and  its 
dark-blue  or  purplish  secondaries  (the  narrow  half) 
finely  barred  with  dusky.  It  is  the  more  glorious  to  live 
in  Concord  because  the  jay  is  so  splendidly  painted. 

June  10,  1859.  Surveying  for  D.  B.  Clark  on  "  Col- 
lege Road,"  so  called  in  Peter  Temple's  deed  in  1811, 
Clark  thought  from  a  house  so  called  once  standing  on 
it.  Cut  a  line,  and  after  measured  it,  in  a  thick  wood, 
which  passed  within  two  feet  of  a  blue  jay's  nest  which 
was  about  four  feet  up  a  birch,  beneath  the  leafy 
branches  and  quite  exposed.  The  bird  sat  perfectly  still 
with  its  head  up  and  bill  open  upon  its  pretty  large 
young,  not  moving  in  the  least,  while  we  drove  a  stake 
close  by,  within  three  feet,  and  cut  and  measured,  being 
about  there  twenty  minutes  at  least. 

Oct.  '21,  1860.  As  I  am  coming  out  of  this,^  looking 
for  seedling  oaks,  I  see  a  jay,  which  was  screaming  at 

^  [A  white  pine  wood.] 


AMERICAN  CROW  229 

me,  fly  to  a  white  oak  eight  or  ten  rods  from  the  wood 
in  the  pasture  and  directly  alight  on  the  ground,  pick 
up  an  acorn,  and  fly  back  into  the  woods  with  it.  This 
was  one,  perhaps  the  most  effectual,  way  in  which  this 
wood  was  stocked  with  the  numerous  little  oaks  which 
I  saw  under  that  dense  white  pine  grove.  Where  will 
you  look  for  a  jay  sooner  than  in  a  dense  pine  thicket  ? 
It  is  there  they  commonly  live,  and  build. 

What  if  the  oaks  are  far  off  ?  Think  how  quickly  a 
jay  can  come  and  go,  and  how  man}'  times  in  a  day  ! 

Oct.  29, 1860.  Again,  as  day  before  yesterday,  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  pine  wood,  I  see  a  jay  fly  to  a  white  oak 
half  a  dozen  rods  off  in  the  pasture,  and,  gathering  an 
aeorn  from  the  ground,  hammer  away  at  it  under  its 
foot  on  a  limb  of  the  oak,  with  an  awkward  and  rapid 
seesaw  or  teetering  motion,  it  has  to  lift  its  head  so  high 
to  acquire  the  requisite  momentum.  The  jays  scold 
about  almost  every  white  oak  tree,  since  we  hinder  their 
coming  to  it. 

\_See  also  under  Hawks,  p.  163;  General  and  Mis- 
cellaneous, pp.  414,  416.] 

AMERICAN   CROW 

Sept.  17, 1852.  The  crows  congregate  and  pursue  me 
through  the  half-covered  woodland  path,  cawing  loud 
and  angrily  above  me,  and  when  they  cease,  I  hear 
the  winnowing  sound  of  their  wings.  What  ragged 
ones ! 

Nov.  1,  1853.  As  I  return,  I  notice  crows  flying 
southwesterly  in  a  very  long  straggling  flock,  of  which 


230     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

I  see  probably  neither  end.  A  small  flock  of  red-wings 
singing  as  in  spring. 

Jan.  8,  1855.  I  hear  a  few  chickadees  near  at  hand, 
and  hear  and  see  jays  further  off,  and,  as  yesterday,  a 
crow  sitting  sentinel  on  an  apple  tree.  Soon  he  gives 
the  alarm,  and  several  more  take  their  places  near  him. 
Then  off  they  flap  with  their  caw  of  various  hoarseness. 

Jan.  12,  1855.  Perhaps  what  most  moves  us  in  win- 
ter is  some  reminiscence  of  far-off  summer.  How  we 
leap  by  the  side  of  the  open  brooks  !  What  beauty  in 
the  running  brooks !  What  life !  What  society !  The 
cold  is  merely  superficial ;  it  is  summer  still  at  the  core, 
far,  far  within.  It  is  in  the  cawing  of  the  crow,  the 
crowing  of  the  cock,  the  warmth  of  the  sun  on  our 
backs.  I  hear  faintly  the  cawing  of  a  crow  far,  far 
away,  echoing  from  some  unseen  wood-side,  as  if  dead- 
ened by  the  springlike  vapor  which  the  sun  is  drawing 
from  the  ground.  It  mingles  with  the  slight  murmur  of 
the  village,  the  sound  of  children  at  play,  as  one  stream 
empties  gently  into  another,  and  the  wild  and  tame  are 
one.  What  a  delicious  sound  !  It  is  not  merely  crow 
calling  to  crow,  for  it  speaks  to  me  too.  I  am  part  of 
one  great  creature  with  him ;  if  he  has  voice,  I  have 
ears.  I  can  hear  when  he  calls,  and  have  engaged  not  to 
shoot  nor  stone  him  if  he  will  caw  to  me  each  spring. 
On  the  one  hand,  it  may  be,  is  the  sound  of  children  at 
school  saying  their  a,  b,  ab's,  on  the  other,  far  in  the 
weod-fringed  horizon,  the  cawing  of  crows  from  tKeir 
blessed  eternal  vacation,  out  at  their  long  recess,  chil- 
dren who  have  got  dismissed  I  While  the  vaporous  in- 
cense goes  up  from  all  the  fields  of  the  spring  —  if  it 


AMERICAN   CROW  231 

were  spring.  Ah,  bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul!  bless  him 
for  wildness,  for  crows  that  will  not  alight  within  guiv 
shot !  and  bless  him  for  hens,  too,  that  croak  and  cackle 
in  the  yard  ! 

May  5,  1855.  Looking  over  my  book,  I  found  I  had 
done  my  errands,  and  said  to  myself  I  would  find  a 
crow's  nest.  (I  had  heard  a  crow  scold  at  a  passing  hawk 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  before.)  I  had  hardly  taken  this 
resolution  when,  looking  up,  I  saw  a  crow  wending  his 
way  across  an  interval  in  the  woods  towards  the  highest 
pines  in  the  swamp,  on  which  he  alighted.  I  directed  my 
steps  to  them  and  was  soon  greeted  with  an  angry  caw^ 
and,  within  five  minutes  from  my  resolve,  I  detected  a 
new  nest  close  to  the  top  of  the  tallest  white  pine  in  the 
swamp.  A  crow  circled  cawing  about  it  within  gunshot, 
then  over  me  surveying,  and,  perching  on  an  oak  directly 
over  my  head  within  thirty-five  feet,  cawed  angrily. 
But  suddenly,  as  if  having  taken  a  new  resolution,  it 
flitted  away,  and  was  joined  by  its  mate  and  two  more, 
and  they  went  oif  silently  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more 
and  lit  in  a  pasture,  as  if  they  had  nothing  to  concern 
them  in  the  wood. 

May  7, 1855.  Climbed  to  two  crows'  nests,  —  or  maybe 
one  of  them  a  squirrel's,  —  in  Hubbard's  Grove.  Do 
they  not  sometimes  use  a  squirrel's  nest  for  a  founda- 
tion ?  A  ruby-crested  wren  is  apparently  attracted  and 
eyes  me.  It  is  wrenching  and  fatiguing,  as  well  as  dirty, 
work  to  climb  a  tall  pine  with  nothing,  or  maybe  only 
dead  twigs  and  stubs,  to  hold  by.  You  must  proceed 
with  great  deliberation  and  see  well  where  you  put  your 
hands  and  your  feet. 


232    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

May  11,  1855.  You  can  hardly  walk  in  a  thick  pine 
wood  now,  especially  a  swamp,  but  presently  you  will 
have  a  crow  or  two  over  your  head,  either  silently  flit- 
ting over,  to  spy  what  you  would  be  at  and  if  its  nest 
is  in  danger,  or  angrily  cawing.  It  is  most  impressive 
when,  looking  for  their  nests,  you  first  detect  the  pre- 
sence of  the  bird  by  its  shadow. 

Dec.  15,  1855.  How  like  a  bird  of  ill  omen  the 
crow  behaves!  Still  holding  its  ground  in  our  midst 
like  a  powwow  that  is  not  to  be  exterminated!  Some- 
times when  I  am  going  through  the  Deep  Cut,  I  look  up 
and  see  half  a  dozen  black  crows  flitting  silently  across 
in  front  and  ominously  eying  down  ;  passing  from  one 
wood  to  another,  yet  as  if  their  passage  had  reference 
to  me. 

Jan.  22,  1856.  Somebody  has  been  fishing  in  the 
pond  this  morning,  and  the  water  in  the  holes  is  be- 
ginning to  freeze.  I  see  the  track  of  a  crow,  the  toes 


as  usual  less  spread  and  the  middle  one  making  a  more 
curved  furrow  in  the  snow  than  the  partridge,  as  if 
they  moved  more  unstably,  recovering  their  balance, 
—  feeble  on  their  feet.  The  inner  toe  a  little  the 
nearest  to  the  middle  one.  This  track  goes  to  every 
hole  but  one  or  two  out  of  a  dozen,  —  directly  from 
hole  to  hole,  sometimes  flying  a  little,  —  and  also  to  an 
apple-core  on  the  snow.  I  am  pretty  sure  that  this  bird 
was  after  the  bait  which  is  usually  dropped  on  the  ice 
or  in  the  hole.  E.  Garfield  says  they  come  regularly 
to  his  holes  for  bait  as  soon  as  he  has  left.  So,  if  the 


AMERICAN   CROW  233 

pickerel  are  not  fed,  it  is.  It  had  even  visited,  on  the 
wing,  a  hole,  now  frozen  and  snowed  up,  which  I  made 
far  from  this  in  the  middle  of  the  pond  several  days 
since,  as  I  discovered  by  its  droppings,  the  same  kind 
that  it  had  left  about  the  first  holes. 

I  brought  home  and  examined  some  of  the  droppings* 
of  the  crow  mentioned  [above] .  They  were  brown  and 
dry,  though  partly  frozen.  After  long  study  with  a  mi- 
croscope, I  discovered  that  they  consisted  of  the  seeds 
and  skins  and  other  indigestible  parts  of  red  cedar 
berries  and  some  barberries  (I  detected  the  imbricated 
scale-like  leaves  of  a  berry  stem  and  then  the  seeds 
and  the  now  black  skins  of  the  cedar  berries,  but  easily 
the  large  seeds  of  the  barberries)  and  perhaps  some- 
thing more,  and  I  knew  whence  it  had  probably  come, 
i.  e.  from  the  cedar  woods  and  barberry  bushes  by 
Flint's  Pond.  These,  then,  make  part  of  the  food  of 
crows  in  severe  weather  when  the  snow  is  deep,  as  at 
present. 

t/an.  24,  1856.  I  knew  that  a  crow  had  that  day 
plucked  the  cedar  berries  and  barberries  by  Flint's 
Pond  and  then  flapped  silently  through  the  trackless 
air  to  Walden,  where  it  dined  on  fisherman's  bait, 
though  there  was  no  living  creature  to  tell  me. 

Here  are  the  tracks  of  a  crow,  like  those  of  the  22d, 
with  a  long  hind  toe,  nearly  two  inches.  The  two  feet 

1  [Evidently  the  pellets  of  indigestible  matter  which  the  crow,  in 
common  with  hawks,  owls,  gulls,  and  some  other  birds,  disgorges  from 
time  to  time.] 


234    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

are  also  nearly  two  inches  apart.  I  see  where  the  bird 
alighted,  descending  with  an  impetus  and  breaking 
through  the  slight  crust,  planting  its  feet  side  by 
side. 

How  different  this  partridge-track,  with  its  slight 
hind  toe,  open  and  wide-spread  toes  on  each  side,  both 
feet  forming  one  straight  line,  exactly  thus :  — 

(Five  inches  from  centre  to  centre.)  The  middle  toe 
alternately  curved  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  what 
is  apparently  the  outer  toe  in  each  case  shorter  than 
the  inner  one. 

Jan.  31,  1856.  But  what  track  is  this,  just  under 
the  bank? 


<i 


\ 


^  i 


It  must  be  a  bird,  which  at  last  struck  the  snow  with 
its  wings  and  took  to  flight.  There  were  but  four  hops 
in  all,  and  then  it  ended  as  above,  though  there  was 
nothing  near  enough  for  it  to  hop  upon  from  the  snow. 
The  form  of  the  foot  was  somewhat  like  that  of  a 
squirrel,  though  only  the  outline  was  distinguished. 
The  foot  was  about  two  inches  long,  and  it  was  about 
two  inches  from  outside  of  one  foot  to  outside  of  the 
other.  Sixteen  inches  from  hop  to  hop,  the  rest  in 
proportion.  Looking  narrowly,  I  saw  where  one  wing 
struck  the  bank  ten  feet  ahead,  thus :  '==^,  as  it  passed. 


y 


AMERICAN   CROW  235 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  down-stream  it  occurred  again,  tlms: 

and  near  by  still  less  of  a  track, 

0>^        'Ir'  but  marks  as  if  it  had  pecked  in 

*i»    ^  jjj     the  snow.  Could  it  be  the  track 

'f'r/jfiW  ®^  ^  crow  with  its  toes  unusually 

close  together  ?  Or  was  it  an  owl  ? ' 

If^eb.  1,  1856.  Nut  Meadow  Brook  open  for  some 
distance  in  the  meadow.  ...  I  see  where  a  crow  has 
walked  along  its  side.  In  one  place  it  hopped,  and  its 
feet  were  side  by  side,  as  in  the  track  of  yesterday, 
though  a  little  more  spread,  the  toes.  I  have  but 
little  doubt  that  yesterday's  track  was  a  crow's. 
The  two  inner  toes  are  near  together ;  the  mid- 
dle, more  or  less  curved  often. 

I^eb.  6,  1856.  Goodwin  says  that  he  has  caught  two 
crows  this  winter  in  his  traps  set  in  water  for  mink, 
and  baited  with  fish.  The  crows,  probably  put  to  it  for 
food  and  looking  along  the  very  few  open  brooks,  at- 
tracted by  this  bait,  got  their  feet  into  the  traps. 

F'eb.  27, 1857.  I  see  many  crows  on  the  hillside,  with 
their  sentinel  on  a  tree.  They  are  picking  the  cow- 
dung  scattered  about,  apparently  for  the  worms,  etc., 
it  contains.  They  have  done  this  in  so  many  places  that 
it  looks  as  if  the  farmer  had  been  at  work  with  his 
maul.  They  must  save  him  some  trouble  thus.^ 

Sept.  30,  1857.  I  was  telling  him^  how  some  crows 
two  or  three  weeks  ago  came  flying  with  a  scolding  caw 

^  Probably  a  crow.  Vide  Feb.  1st.  Hardly  a  doubt  of  it.  [The  crow, 
though  habitually  a  walker,  sometimes  hops  when  in  a  particular 
hurry.] 

^  Notice  the  like  extensively  early  in  March,  1860. 

3  [George  Minott.] 


236     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

toward  me  as  I  stood  on  "  Cornel  Rock,"  and  alighted 
within  fifty  feet  on  a  dead  tree  above  my  head,  un- 
usually bold.  Then  away  go  all  but  one,  perchance,  to  a 
tall  pine  in  the  swamp,  twenty  rods  off ;  anon  he  fol- 
lows. Again  they  go  quite  out  of  sight  amid  the  tree- 
tops,  leaving  one  behind.  This  one,  at  last,  quite  at 
his  leisure,  flaps  away  cawing,  knowing  well  where  to 
find  his  mates,  though  you  might  think  he  must  winter 
alone. 

Minott  said  that  as  he  was  going  over  to  Lincoln  one 
day  thirty  or  forty  years  ago,  taking  his  way  through 
Ebby  Hubbard's  woods,  he  heard  a  great  flock  of  crows 
cawing  over  his  head,  and  one  alighted  just  within  gun- 
shot. He  raised  his  little  gun  marked  London,  which 
he  knew  would  fetch  down  anything  that  was  within 
gunshot,  and  down  came  the  crow ;  but  he  was  not 
killed,  only  so  filled  with  shot  that  he  could  not  fly. 
As  he  was  going  by  John  Wyman's  at  the  pond,  with 
the  live  crow  in  his  hand,  Wyman  asked  him  what  he 
was  going  to  do  with  that  crow,  to  which  he  answered, 
"  Nothing  in  particular,"  —  he  happened  to  alight 
within  gunshot,  and  so  he  shot  him.  Wyman  said  that 
he  'd  like  to  have  him.  "  What  do  you  want  to  do  with 
him?"  asked  M.  "If  you'll  give  him  to  me,  I'll  tell 
you,"  said  the  other.  To  which  Minott  said,  "  You  may 
have  him  and  welcome."  Wyman  then  proceeded  to 
inform  him  that  the  crows  had  eaten  a  great  space  in 
Josh  Jones  the  blacksmith's  corn-field,  which  Minott 
had  passed  just  below  the  almshouse,  and  that  Jones 
had  told  him  that  if  he  could  kill  a  crow  in  his  corn- 
field he  would  give  him  half  a  bushel  of  rye.  He  could 


AMERICAN   CROW  237 

guess  what  he  wanted  the  crow  for.  So  Wyman  took 
the  crow  and  the  next  time  he  went  into  town  he  tossed 
him  over  the  wall  into  the  corn-field  and  then  shot  him, 
and,  carrying  the  dead  crow  to  Jones,  he  got  his  half- 
bushel  of  rye. 

Oct.  29,  1857.  A  flock  of  about  eighty  crows  flies 
ramblingly  over  toward  the  sowing,  cawing  and  loiter- 
ing and  making  a  great  ado,  apparently  about  nothing. 

Nov.  18,  1857.  Crows  will  often  come  flying  much 
out  of  their  way  to  caw  at  me. 

Jan.  18,  1859.  P.  M.  —  Up  Assabet  to  bridge. 

Two  or  more  inches  of  snow  fell  last  night.  In  the 
expanse  this  side  Mantatuket  Rock  I  see  the  tracks  of 
a  crow  or  crows  in  and  about  the  button-bushes  and 
willows.  They  have  trampled  and  pecked  much  in  some 
spots  under  the  button-bushes  where  these  seeds  are  still 
left  and  dibbled  into  the  snow  by  them.  It  would  seem, 
then,  that  they  eat  them.  The  only  other  seeds  there 
can  be  there  are  those  of  the  mikania,  for  I  look  for 
them.  You  will  see  a  crow's  track  beginning  in  the 
middle  of  the  river,  where  one  alighted.  I  notice  such  a 
track  as  this,  where  one  alighted,  and  ^ 

apparently  struck  its  spread  tail  into  7  • 

the  snow  at  the  same  time  with  its  feet. 
I  see  afterward  where  a  wing's  qui 
have  marked  the  snow  much  like  a  partridge's.  The 
snow  is  very  light,  so  that  the  tracks  are  rarely  dis- 
tinct, and  as  they  often  advance  by  hops  some  might 
mistake  it  for  a  squirrel's  or  mink's  track.  I  suspect 
that  they  came  here  yesterday  after  minnows  when 
the  fishermen  were  gone,  and  that  has  brought  them 


eet.   \^'  I  •  •••**>' 


238     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

here  to-day  in  spite  of  the  snow.  They  evidently  look 
out  sharp  for  a  morsel  of  fish.  I  see  where,  by  the 
red  maple  above  Pinxter  Swamp,  they  have  picked 
over  the  fine  dark-greenish  moss  from  button-bush,  and 
the  leaves  which  had  formed  a  squirrel's  nest,  knock- 
ing it  down  on  to  the  river  and  there  treading  about 
and  pecking  a  small  piece,  apparently  for  some  worms 
or  insects  that  were  in  it,  as  if  they  were  hard  pushed. 
Jan.  19,  1859.  By  the  swamp  between  the  Hollow 
and  Peter's  I  see  the  tracks  of  a  crow  or  crows,  chiefly 
in  the  snow,  two  or  more  inches  deep,  on  a  broad  frozen 
ditch  where  mud  has  been  taken  out.  The  perpendicu- 
lar sides  of  the  ditch  expose  a  foot  or  two  of  dark, 
sooty  mud  which  had  attracted  the  crows,  and  I  see 
where  they  have  walked  along  beneath  it  and  pecked 
it.  Even  here  also  they  have  alighted  on  any  bare  spot 
where  a  foot  of  stubble  was  visible,  or  even  a  rock. 
Where  one  walked  yesterday,  I  see,  notwithstanding 
the  effect  of  the  sun  on  it,  not  only  the  foot-tracks, 
but  the  distinct  impression  of  its  tail  where  it  alighted, 
counting  distinctly  eleven  (of  probably  twelve)  feath- 
ers,—  about  four  inches  of  each,  —  the  whole  mark  be- 
ing some  ten  inches  wide  and  six  deep,  or  more  like  a 
semicircle  than  that  of  yesterday.  The  same  crow,  or 
one  of  the  same,  has  come  again  to-day,  and,  the  snow 
being  sticky  this  warm  weather,  has  left  a  very  dis- 
tinct track.  The  width  of  the  whole  track  is  about  two 
and  three  quarters  inches,  length  of  pace  about  seven 
inches,  length  of  true  track  some  two  inches  (not  includ- 
ing the  nails),  but  the  mark  made  in  setting  down  the 
foot  and  withdrawing  it  is  in  each  case  some  fifteen  or 


AMERICAN   CROW  239 

eighteen  inches  long,  for  its  hind  toe  makes  a  sharp 
scratch  four  or  five  inches  long  before  it  settles,  and 
when  it  lifts  its  foot  again,  it  makes  two  other  fine 
scratches  with  its  middle  and  outer  toe  on  each  side, 
the  first  some  nine  inches  long,  the  second  six.  The 
inner  toe  is  commonly  close  to  the  middle  one.  It 
makes  a  peculiar  curving  track  (or  succession  of  curves), 
stepping  round  the  planted  foot  each  time  with  a 
sweep,  thus:  — 


You  would  say  that  it  toed  in  decidedly  and  walked 
feebly.  It  must  be  that  they  require  but  little  and 
glean  that  very  assiduously. 

March  4,  1859.  What  a  perfectly  New  England 
sound  is  this  voice  of  the  crow  !  If  you  stand  perfectly 
still  anywhere  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  and  listen, 
stilling  the  almost  incessant  hum  of  your  own  personal 
factory,  this  is  perhaps  the  sound  which  you  will  be 
most  sure  to  hear  rising  above  all  sounds  of  human 
industry  and  leading  your  thoughts  to  some  far  bay  in 
the  woods  where  the  crow  is  venting  his  disgust.  This 
bird  sees  the  white  man  come  and  the  Indian  with- 
draw, but  it  withdraws  not.  Its  untamed  voice  is  still 
heard  above  the  tinkling  of  the  forge.  It  sees  a  race 
pass  away,  but  it  passes  not  away.  It  remains  to  re- 
mind us  of  aboriginal  nature. 

March  5, 1859.  I  see  crows  walking  about  on  the  ice 
half  covered  with  snow  in  the  middle  of  the  meadows, 
where  there  is  no  grass,  apparently  to  pick  up  the  worms 
and  other  insects  left  there  since  the  midwinter  freshet. 


240     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Dec.  31, 1859.  Crows  yesterday  flitted  silently,  if  not 
ominously,  over  the  street,  just  after  the  snow  had  fallen, 
as  if  men,  being  further  within,  were  just  as  far  off  as 
usual.  This  is  a  phenomenon  of  both  cold  weather  and 
snowy.  You  hear  nothing ;  you  merely  see  these  black 
apparitions,  though  they  come  near  enough  to  look  down 
your  chimney  and  scent  the  boiling  pot,  and  pass  be- 
tween the  house  and  barn. 

Jan.  30,  1860.  There  are  certain  sounds  invariably 
heard  in  warm  and  thawing  days  in  winter,  such  as 
the  crowing  of.  cocks,  the  cawing  of  crows,  and  some- 
times the  gobbling  of  turkeys.  The  crow,  flying  high, 
touches  the  tympanum  of  the  sky  for  us,  and  reveals 
the  tone  of  it.  What  does  it  avail  to  look  at  a  ther- 
mometer or  barometer  compared  with  listening  to  his 
note?  He  informs  me  that  Nature  is  in  the  tenderest 
mood  possible,  and  I  hear  the  very  flutterings  of  her 
heart. 

Crows  have  singular  wild  and  suspicious  ways.  You 
will  see  a  couple  flying  high,  as  if  about  their  business, 
but  lo,  they  turn  and  circle  and  caw  over  your  head  again 
and  again  for  a  mile ;  and  this  is  their  business,  — as  if  a 
mile  and  an  afternoon  were  nothing  for  them  to  throw 
away.  This  even  in  winter,  when  they  have  no  nests  to  be 
anxious  about.  But  it  is  affecting  to  hear  them  cawing 
about  their  ancient  seat  (as  at  F.  Wheeler's  wood)  which 
the  choppers  are  laying  low. 

March  2, 1860.  See  thirty  or  more  crows  come  flying  in 
the  usual  irregular  zigzag  manner  in  the  strong  wind, 
from  over  M.  Miles's,  going  northeast, —  the  first  migra- 
tion of  them,  —  without  cawing. 


AMERICAN   CROW  241 

3fay  13, 1860.  See  two  crows  pursuing  and  diving  at 
a  hen-bawk  very  high  in  the  air  over  the  river.  He  is 
steadily  circling  and  rising.  While  they,  getting  above, 
dive  down  toward  him,  passing  within  a  foot  or  two,  mak- 
ing a  feint,  he  merely  winks,  as  it  were,  bends  or  jerks  his 
wings  slightly  as  if  a  little  startled,  but  never  ceases 
soaring,  nor  once  turns  to  pursue  or  shake  them  off.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  was  getting  uncomfortably  high  for  them. 

Oct.  6,  1860.  As  I  go  over  the  hill,  I  see  a  large 
flock  of  crows  on  the  dead  white  oak  and  on  the  ground 
under  the  living  one.  I  find  the  ground  strewn  with  white 
oak  acorns,  and  many  of  these  have  just  been  broken  in 
two,  and  their  broken  shells  are  strewn  about,  so  that  I 
suppose  the  crows  have  been  eating  them.  Some  are 
merely  scratched,  as  if  they  had  been  pecked  at  without 
being  pierced ;  also  there  are  two  of  the  large  swamp 
white  oak  acorn-cups  joined  together  dropped  under  this 
oak,  perhaps  by  a  crow,  maybe  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
its  tree,  and  that  probably  across  the  river.  Probably 
a  crow  had  transported  one  or  more  swamp  white  oak 
acorns  this  distance.  They  must  have  been  too  heavy  for 
a  jay. 

The  crow,  methinks,  is  our  only  large  bird  that  hovers 
and  circles  about  in  flocks  in  an  irregular  and  straggling 
manner,  filling  the  air  over  your  head  and  sporting  in 
it  as  if  at  home  here.  They  often  burst  up  above  the 
woods  where  they  were  perching,  like  the  black  frag- 
ments of  a  powder-mill  just  exploded. 

One  crow  lingers  on  a  limb  of  the  dead  oak  till  I  am 
within  a  dozen  rods.  There  is  strong  and  blustering 
northwest  wind,  and  when  it  launches  off  to  follow  its 


242     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

comrades  it  is  blown  up  and  backward  still  nearer  to  me, 
and  it  is  obliged  to  tack  four  or  five  times  just  like  a 
vessel,  a  dozen  rods  or  more  each  way,  very  deliberately, 
first  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  before  it  can  get  off  ; 
for  as  often  as  it  tries  to  fly  directly  forward  against  the 
wind,  it  is  blown  upward  and  backward  within  gunshot, 
and  it  only  advances  directly  forward  at  last  by  stooping 
very  low  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ground  where  the  trees 
keep  off  the  wind.  Yet  the  wind  is  not  remarkably 
strong. 

Dec.  30, 1860.  I  saw  the  crows  a  week  ago  perched 
on  the  swamp  white  oaks  over  the  road  just  beyond 
Wood's  Bridge,  and  many  acorns  and  bits  of  bark  and 
moss,  evidently  dropped  or  knocked  off  by  them,  lay  on 
the  snow  beneath.  One  sat  within  twenty  feet  over  my 
head  with  what  looked  like  a  piece  of  acorn  in  his  bill. 
To-day  I  see  that  they  have  carried  these  same  white 
oak  acorns,  cups  and  all,  to  the  ash  tree  by  the  riverside, 
some  thirty  rods  southeast,  and  dropped  them  there. 
Perhaps  they  find  some  grubs  in  the  acorns,  when  they 
do  not  find  meat.  The  crows  now  and  of  late  frequent 
thus  the  large  trees  by  the  river,  especially  swamp  white 
oak,  and  the  snow  beneath  is  strewn  with  bits  of  bark 
and  moss  and  with  acorns  (commonly  worthless).  They 
are  foraging.  Under  the  first  swamp  white  oak  in  Hub- 
bard's great  meadow  (Cyanean)  I  see  a  little  snap-turtle 
(shell  some  one  and  a  quarter  inches  in  diameter  —  on  his 
second  year,  then)  on  its  back  on  the  ice  —  shell,  legs, 
and  tail  perfect,  but  head  pulled  off,  and  most  of  the 
inwards  with  it  by  the  same  hole  (where  the  neck  was). 
What  is  left  smells  quite  fresh,  and  this  head  must  have 


AMERICAN  CROW  243 

been  torn  off  to-day  —  or  within  a  day  or  two.  I  see  two 
crows  on  the  next  swamp  white  oak  westward,  and  I  can 
scarcely  doubt  that  they  did  it.  Probably  one  found 
the  young  turtle  at  an  open  and  springy  place  in  the 
meadow,  or  by  the  river,  where  they  are  constantly  prey- 
ing, and  flew  with  it  to  this  tree.  Yet  it  is  possible  (?) 
that  it  was  frozen  to  death  when  they  found  it. 

Jan.  11,  1861.  Horace  Mann  brings  me  the  contents 
of  a  crow's  stomach  in  alcohol.  It  was  killed  in  the  vil- 
lage within  a  day  or  two.  It  is  quite  a  mass  of  frozen- 
thawed  apple,  —  pulp  and  skin,  —  with  a  good  many 
pieces  of  skunk-cabbage  berries  one  fourth  inch  or  less 
in  diameter,  and  commonly  showing  the  pale-brown 
or  blackish  outside,  interspersed,  looking  like  bits  of 
acorns,  —  never  a  whole  or  even  half  a  berry,  —  and  two 
little  bones  as  of  frogs  (?)  or  mice  (?)  or  tadpoles  ;  also 
a  street  pebble  a  quarter  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  hard  to 
be  distinguished  in  appearance  from  the  cabbage  seeds. 

[/S'ee  also  under  Herring  Gull,  pp.  14,  17;  Ruffed 
Grouse,  p.  98 ;  Hen-Hawks,  p.  142 ;  Fish  Hawk,  pp. 
156,  157  ;  Blue  Jay,  p.  226  ;  General  and  Miscellane- 
ous, pp.  416, 427, 431,  433.] 


XIV 
BLACKBIRDS,  ORIOLES,  ETC. 

BOBOLINK 

June  29,  1851.  At  a  distance  in  the  meadow  I  hear 
still,  at  long  intervals,  the  hurried  commencement  of 
the  bobolink's  strain,  the  bird  just  dashing  into  song, 
which  is  as  suddenly  checked,  as  it  were,  by  the  warder 
of  the  seasons,  and  the  strain  is  left  incomplete  forever. 
Like  human  beings  they  are  inspired  to  sing  only  for  a 
short  season.^ 

May  16,  1852.  The  bobolink  sits  on  a  hardback, 
swaying  to  and  fro,  uncertain  whether  to  begin  his 
strain,  dropping  a  few  bubbling  notes  by  way  of  pre- 
lude,—  with  which  he  overflows. 

Aug.  15,  1852.  Some  birds  fly  in  flocks.  I  see  a 
dense,  compact  flock  of  bobolinks  going  off  in  the  air 
over  a  field.  They  cover  the  rails  and  alders,  and  go 
rustling  off  with  a  brassy,  tinkling  note  like  a  ripe  crop 
as  I  approach,  revealing  their  yellow  breasts  and  bellies. 
This  is  an  autumnal  sight,  that  small  flock  of  grown 
birds  in  the  afternoon  sky. 

May  10,  1853.  When  I  heard  the  first  bobolink 
strain  this  morning  I  could  not  at  first  collect  myself 
enough  to  tell  what  it  was  I  heard,  — a  reminiscence  of 
last  May  in  all  its  prime  occurring  in  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
perience of  this  in  its  unripe  state.  Suddenly,  the  season 
^  I  have  since  heard  some  complete  strains. 


BOBOLINK  246 

being  sufficiently  advanced,  the  atmosphere  in  the  right 
condition,  these  flashing,  scintillating  notes  are  struck 
out  from  it  where  that  dark  mote  disappears  through 
it,  as  sparks  by  a  flint,  with  a  tinkling  sound.  This 
flashing,  tinkling  meteor  bursts  through  the  expectant 
meadow  air,  leaving  a  train  of  tinkling  notes  behind. 
Successive  regiments  of  birds  arrive  and  are  disbanded 
in  our  fields,  like  soldiers  still  wearing  their  regimen- 
tals. I  doubted  at  first  if  it  were  not  a  strain  brought 
on  a  few  days  in  advance  by  an  imitative  catbird  or 
thrush  (?)  from  where  he  had  been  staying. 

May  12,  1853.  This,  too,  is  the  era  of  the  bobolink, 
now,  when  apple  trees  are  ready  to  burst  into  bloom. 

May  17,  1853.  The  bobolink  skims  by  before  the 
wind  how  far  without  motion  of  his  wings !  sometimes 
borne  sidewise  as  he  turns  his  head  —  for  thus  he  can 
fly  —  and  tinkling,  linking^  incessantly  all  the  way. 

May  25, 1857.  It  is  interesting  to  hear  the  bobolinks 
from  the  meadow  sprinkle  their  lively  strain  along  amid 
the  tree-tops  as  they  fly  over  the  wood  above  our  heads. 
It  resounds  in  a  novel  manner  through  the  aisles  of  the 
wood,  and  at  the  end  that  fine  buzzing,  wiry  note. 

June  1, 1857.  I  hear  the  note  of  a  bobolink  concealed 
in  the  top  of  an  apple  tree  behind  me.  Though  this 
bird's  full  strain  is  ordinarily  somewhat  trivial,  this  one 
appears  to  be  meditating  a  strain  as  yet  unheard  in 
meadow  or  orchard.  Paulo  majora  canarnus.  He  is  just 
touching  the  strings  of  his  theorbo,  his  glassichord,  his 
water  organ,  and  one  or  two  notes  globe  themselves  and 
fall  in  liquid  bubbles  from  his  teeming  throat.  It  is  as 
if  he  touched  his  harp  within  a  vase  of  liquid  melody, 


246     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

and  when  he  lifted  it  out,  the  notes  fell  like  bubbles 
from  the  trembling  strings.  Methinks  they  are  the  most 
liquidly  sweet  and  melodious  sounds  I  ever  heard. 
They  are  refreshing  to  my  ear  as  the  first  distant  tin- 
kling and  gurgling  of  a  rill  to  a  thirsty  man.  Oh,  never 
advance  farther  in  your  art,  never  let  us  hear  your  full 
strain,  sir.  But  away  he  launches,  and  the  meadow  is 
all  bespattered  with  melody.  His  notes  fall  with  the 
apple  blossoms,  in  the  orchard.  The  very  divinest  part 
of  his  strain  dropping  from  his  overflowing  breast  sin- 
gultim,  in  globes  of  melody.  It  is  the  foretaste  of  such 
strains  as  never  fell  on  mortal  ears,  to  hear  which  we 
should  rush  to  our  doors  and  contribute  all  that  we 
possess  and  are.  Or  it  seemed  as  if  in  that  vase  full  of 
melody  some  notes  sphered  themselves,  and  from  time 
to  time  bubbled  up  to  the  surface  and  were  with  diffi- 
culty repressed. 

June  2, 1857.  That  bobolink's  song  affected  me  as  if 
one  were  endeavoring  to  keep  down  globes  of  melody 
within  a  vase  full  of  liquid,  but  some  bubbled  up  irre- 
pressible, —  kept  thrusting  them  down  with  a  stick,  but 
they  slipped  and  came  up  one  side. 

June  26, 1857.  I  must  be  near  bobolinks'  nests  many 
times  these  days,  —  in  E.  Hosmer's  meadow  by  the 
garlic  and  here  in  Charles  Hubbard's,  —  but  the  birds 
are  so  overanxious,  though  you  may  be  pretty  far  off, 
and  so  shy  about  visiting  their  nests  while  you  are  there, 
that  you  watch  them  in  vain.  The  female  flies  close  past 
and  perches  near  you  on  a  rock  or  stump  and  chirps 
whit  tit,  whit  tit,  whit  it  tit  tit  te  incessantly. 

Aiif/.  18,  1858.  Miss  Caroline  Pratt  saw  the  white 


COWBIRD  247 

bobolink  yesterday  where  Channing  saw  it  the  day  be- 
fore, in  the  midst  of  a  large  flock.  I  go  by  the  place 
this  afternoon  and  see  very  large  flocks  of  them,  cer- 
tainly several  hundreds  in  all,  and  one  has  a  little  white 
on  his  back,  but  I  do  not  see  the  white  one.  Almost 
every  bush  along  this  brook  is  now  alive  with  these 
birds.  You  wonder  where  they  were  all  hatched,  for 
you  may  have  failed  to  find  a  single  nest.  I  know  eight 
or  ten  active  boys  who  have  been  searching  for  these 
nests  the  past  season  quite  busily,  and  they  have  found 
but  two  at  most.  Surely  but  a  small  fraction  of  these 
birds  will  ever  return  from  the  South.  Have  they  so 
many  foes  there?  Hawks  must  fare  well  at  present. 
They  go  off^  in  a  straggling  flock,  and  it  is  a  long  time 
before  the  last  loiterer  has  left  the  bushes  near  you. 

July  15,  1860.  I  hear  this  forenoon  the  link  link  of 
the  first  bobolink  going  over  our  garden,  —  though  I 
hear  several  full  strains  of  bobolinks  to-day,  as  in  May, 
carrying  me  back  to  Apple  Sunday,  but  they  have  been 
rare  a  long  time.  Now  as  it  were  the  very  cope  of  the 
dark-glazed  heavens  yields  a  slightly  metallic  sound 
when  struck. 

COWBIRD  ;   cow   BLACKBIRD ;   COW   TROOPIAL 

July  16,  1851.  The  red-wings  and  crow  blackbirds 
are  heard  chattering  on  the  trees,  and  the  cow  troopials 
are  accompanying  the  cows  in  the  pastures  for  the  sake 
of  the  insects  they  scare  up.  Oftentimes  the  thought- 
less sportsman  has  lodged  his  charge  of  shot  in  the  cow's 
legs  or  body  in  his  eagerness  to  obtain  the  birds. 

Sept.  4,  1853.    In  Potter's  dry  pasture  I  saw  the 


248     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

ground  black  with  blackbirds  (troopials?).  As  I  ap- 
proach, the  front  rank  rises  and  flits  a  little  further 
back  into  the  midst  of  the  flock,  —  it  rolls  up  on  the 
edges,  —  and,  being  thus  alarmed,  they  soon  take  to 
flight,  with  a  loud  rippling  rustle,  but  soon  alight  again, 
the  rear  wheeling  swiftly  into  place  like  well-drilled 
soldiers.  Instead  of  being  an  irregular  and  disorderly 
crowd,  they  appear  to  know  and  keep  their  places  and 
wheel  with  the  precision  of  drilled  troops. 

June  11,  1854.*  Saw  in  and  near  some  woods  four  or 
five  cow  blackbirds,  with  their  light-brown  heads, — 
their  strain  an  imperfect,  milky,  gurgling  conqueree^  an 
unsuccessful  effort.  It  made  me  think,  for  some  reason, 
of  streams  of  milk  bursting  out  a  sort  of  music  between 
the  staves  of  a  keg. 

July  13,  1856.  In  Hubbard's  euphorbia  pasture,  cow 
blackbirds  about  cows.  At  first  the  cows  were  resting 
and  ruminating  in  the  shade,  and  no  birds  were  seen. 
Then  one  after  another  got  up  and  went  to  feeding, 
straggling  into  the  midst  of  the  field.  With  a  chatter- 
ing appeared  a  cowbird,  and,  vnth  a  long  slanting  flight, 
lit  close  to  a  cow's  nose,  within  the  shadow  of  it,  and 
watched  for  insects,  the  cow  still  eating  along  and  al- 
most hitting  it,  taking  no  notice  of  it.  Soon  it  is  joined 
by  two  or  three  more  birds. 

Sept.  6,  1858.  Going  over  Clamshell  Plain,  I  see  a 
very  large  flock  of  a  hundred  or  more  cowbirds  about 
some  cows.  They  whirl  away  on  some  alarm  and  alight 
on  a  neighboring  rail  fence,  close  together  on  the  rails, 
one  above  another.  Then  away  they  whirl  and  settle  on 
a  white  oak  top  near  me.  Half  of  them  are  evidently 


RED-WINGED   BLACKBIRD  249 

quite  young  birds,  having  glossy  black  breasts  with  a 
drab  line  down  middle.  The  heads  of  all  are  li^ht- 
colored,  perhaps  a  slaty  drab,  and  some  apparently 
wholly  of  this  color. 

[See  also  under  Domestic  Fowl,  p.  435.] 

RED-WINGED   BLACKBIRD 

Oct.  5,  1851.  I  hear  the  red-wing  blackbirds  by  the 
riverside  again,  as  if  it  were  a  new  spring.  They  appear 
to  have  come  to  bid  farewell.  The  birds  appear  to  de- 
part with  the  coming  of  the  frosts,  which  kill  vegetation 
and,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  insects  on  which  they  feed. 

April  22,  1852.  The  strain  of  the  red-wing  on  the 
willow  spray  over  the  water  to-night  is  liquid,  bub- 
bling, watery,  almost  like  a  tinkling  fountain,  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  meadow.  It  oozes,  trickles,  tinkles, 
bubbles  from  his  throat, — bob-y-lee-e-e,  and  then  its 
shrill,  fine  whistle. 

May  7,  1852.  The  red-wing's  shoulder,  seen  in  a 
favorable  light,  throws  all  epaulets  into  the  shade.  It 
is  General  Abercrombie,  methinks,  when  they  wheel 
partly  with  the  red  to  me. 

May  8,  1852.  The  blackbirds  have  a  rich  sprayey 
warble  now,  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  willow  or  an  elm. 
They  possess  the  river  now^  flying  back  and  forth 
across  it. 

March  19, 1853.  This  morning  I  hear  the  blackbird's 
fine  clear  whistle  and  also  his  sprayey  note,  as  he  is 
swayed  back  and  forth  on  the  twigs  of  the  elm  or  of 
the  black  willow  over  the  river.  His  first  note  may  be 
a  chuck,  but  his  second  is  a  rich  gurgle  or  warble. 


25.0    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

May  14,  1853.  The  still  dead-looking  willows  and 
button-bushes  are  alive  with  red-wings,  now  perched 
on  a  yielding  twig,  now  pursuing  a  female  swiftly  over 
the  meadow,  now  darting  across  the  stream.  No  two 
have  epaulets  equally  brilliant.  Some  are  small  and 
almost  white,  and  others  a  brilliant  vermilion.  They 
are  handsomer  than  the  golden  robin,  methinks.  The 
yellowbird,  kingbird,  and  pewee,  beside  many  swal- 
lows, are  also  seen.  But  the  rich  colors  and  the  rich 
and  varied  notes  of  the  blackbirds  surpass  them 
all. 

June  24,  1853.  Also  got  a  blackbird's  nest  whose 
inhabitants  had  flown,  hung  by  a  kind  of  small  dried 
rush  (?)  between  two  button-bushes  which  crossed  above 
it ;  of  meadow-grass  and  sedge,  dried  Mikania  scandens 
vine,  horse-tail,  fish-lines,  and  a  strip  apparently  of  a 
lady's  bathing-dress,  lined  with  a  somewhat  finer  grass ; 
of  a  loose  and  ragged  texture  to  look  at.  Green  mikania 
running  over  it  now. 

April  18,  1854.  Heard  a  red-wing  sing  his  hohylee 
in  new  wise,  as  if  he  tossed  up  a  fourpence  and  it  rat- 
tled on  some  counter  in  the  air  as  it  went  up. 

May  16,  1854.  Looked  into  several  red-wing  black- 
birds' nests  which  are  now  being  built,  but  no  eggs  yet. 
They  are  generally  hung  between  two  twigs,  say  of 
button-bush.  I  noticed  at  one  nest  what  looked  like  a 
tow  string  securely  tied  about  a  twig  at  each  end  about 
six  inches  apart,  left  loose  in  the  middle.  It  was  not 
a  string,  but  I  think  a  strip  of  milkweed  pod,  etc., — 
water  asclepias  probably,  —  maybe  a  foot  long  and  very 
strong:.  How   remarkable   that  this  bird  should  have 


RKD-WIXCKl)   HLACKBIRD 


RED-WIXGED  BLACKIURD'S  NEST  AND  EC.C: 


RED-WINGED   BLACKBIRD  251 

found  out  the  strength  of  this,  which  I  was  so  slow  to 
find  out !  ^ 

May  13,  1855.  I  heard  from  2i  female  red-wing  that 
peculiar  rich  screwing  warble  —  not  o  gurgle  ee  —  made 
with  r,  not  with  I. 

June  14,  1855.  See  young  red-wings;  like  grizzly- 
black  vultures,  they  are  still  so  bald. 

June  1,  1857.  A  red-wing's  nest,  four  eggs,  low  in  a 
tuft  of  sedge  in  an  open  meadow.  What  ChampoUion 
can  translate  the  hieroglyphics  on  these  eggs?  It  is 
always  writing  of  the  same  character,  though  much 
diversified.  While  the  bird  picks  up  the  material  and 
lays  the  ^gg^  who  determines  the  style  of  the  marking? 
When  you  approach,  away  dashes  the  dark  mother,  be- 
traying her  nest,  and  then  chatters  her  anxiety  from  a 
neighboring  bush,  where  she  is  soon  joined  by  the  red- 
shouldered  male,  who  comes  scolding  over  your  head, 
chattering  and  uttering  a  sharp  jpihe  phee-e. 

March  19,  1858.  By  the  river,  see  distinctly  red- 
wings and  hear  their  conqueree.  They  are  not  associ- 
ated with  grackles.^  They  are  an  age  before  their 
cousins,  have  attained  to  clearness  and  liquidity.  They 
are  officers,  epauletted ;  the  others  are  rank  and  file.  I 
distinguish  one  even  by  its  flight,  hovering  slowly  from 
tree-top  to  tree-top,  as  if  ready  to  utter  its  liquid  notes. 
Their  whistle  is  very  clear  and  sharp,  while  the  grackle's 
is  ragged  and  split. 

It  is  a  fine  evening,  as  I  stand  on  the  bridge.  The 
waters  are  quite  smooth  ;  very  little  ice  to  be  seen.  The 

1  [See  under  Yellow  Warbler,  pp.  350-352.] 

2  [That  is,  rusty  blackbirds.  See  note  on  p.  255.] 


252     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

red-wing  and  song  sparrow  are  singing,  and  a  flock  of 
tree  sparrows  is  pleasantly  warbling.  A  new  era  has 
come.  The  red-wing's  gurgle-ee  is  heard  when  smooth 
waters  begin  ;  they  come  together. 

March  11,  1859.  I  see  and  hear  a  red-wing.  It  sings 
almost  steadily  on  its  perch  there,  sitting  all  alone,  as 
if  to  attract  companions  (and  I  see  two  more,  also  soli- 
tary, on  different  tree-tops  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile), 
calling  the  river  to  life  and  tempting  ice  to  melt  and 
trickle  like  its  own  sprayey  notes.  Another  flies  over 
on  high,  with  a  tchuck  and  at  length  a  clear  whistle. 
The  birds  anticipate  the  spring;  they  come  to  melt  the 
ice  with  their  songs. 

March  15,  1860.  Here  is  a  flock  of  red-wings.  I 
heard  one  yesterday,  and  I  see  a  female  among  these.  ^ 
These  are  easily  distinguished  from  grackles  by  the 
richness  and  clarity  of  their  notes,  as  if  they  were  a 
more  developed  bird.  How  handsome  as  they  go  by  in 
a  checker,  each  with  a  bright  scarlet  shoulder !  They 
are  not  so  very  shy,  but  mute  when  we  come  near.  I 
think  here  are  four  or  five  grackles  with  them,  which 
remain  when  the  rest  fly.  They  cover  the  apple  trees 
like  a  black  fruit. 

March  17, 1860.  How  handsome  a  flock  of  red-wings, 
ever  changing  its  oval  form  as  it  advances,  by  the  rear 
birds  passing  the  others! 

April  29,  1860.  I  listen  to  a  concert  of  red-wings, 
—  their  rich  sprayey  notes,  amid  which  a  few  more 

'  [The  date  is,  of  course,  a  very  early  one  for  female  red-winged 
blackbirds,  which  ordinarily  do  not  arrive  till  some  time  after  the 
males.] 


MEADOWLARK;   LARK  253 

liquid  and  deep  in  a  lower  tone  or  undertone,  as  if  it 
bubbled  up  from  the  very  water  beneath  the  button- 
bushes  ;  as  if  those  singers  sat  lower.  Some  old  and 
skillful  performer  touches  these  deep  and  liquid  notes, 
and  the  rest  seem  to  get  up  a  concert  just  to  encourage 
him.  Yet  it  is  ever  a  prelude  or  essay  with  him,  as 
are  all  good  things,  and  the  melody  he  is  capable  of 
and  which  we  did  not  hear  this  time  is  what  we  remem- 
ber. The  future  will  draw  him  out.  The  different  in- 
dividuals sit  singing  and  pluming  themselves  and  not 
appearing  to  have  any  conversation  with  one  another. 
They  are  only  tuning  all  at  once ;  they  never  seriously 
perform;  the  hour  has  not  arrived.  Then  all  go  off  with 
a  hurried  and  perhaps  alarmed  tchuck  tchuck. 

[/S'ee  also  under  Blackbirds,  pp.  260,  2G1,  263 ; 
Robin,  pp.  388,  390 ;  Bluebird,  p.  401 ;  General  and 
Miscellaneous,  p.  426.] 

MEADOWLARK;    LARK 

July  16,  1851.  The  lark  sings  in  the  meadow ;  the 
very  essence  of  the  afternoon  is  in  his  strain.  This  is  a 
New  England  sound,  but  the  cricket  is  heard  under  all 
sounds. 

Oct.  6,  1851.^  (I  hear  a  lark  singing  this  morn  (Oc- 
tober 7th),  and  yesterday  saw  them  in  the  meadows. 
Both  larks  and  blackbirds  are  heard  again  now  occa- 
sionally, seemingly  after  a  short  absence,  as  if  come  to 
bid  farewell.) 

April  14,  1852.  Going  down  the  railroad  at  nine 
A.  M.,  I  hear  the  lark  singing  from  over  the  snow.  This 
1  [Entered  under  this  date,  though  written  the  next  day.] 


254    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

for  steady  singing  comes  next  to  the  robin  now.  It  will 
come  up  very  sweet  from  the  meadows  ere  long. 

May  3,  1852.  Some  of  the  notes,  the  trills,  of  the 
lark  sitting  amid  the  tussocks  and  stubble  are  like  my 
seringo-bird.^  May  these  birds  that  live  so  low  in  the 
grass  be  called  the  cricket  birds  ?  and  does  their  song 
resemble  the  cricket's,  an  earth-song  ? 

April  6,  1853.  I  cannot  describe  the  lark's  song.  I 
used  these  syllables  in  the  morning  to  remember  it  by, 
—  heetar-su-e-oo. 

Nov.  1,  1853.  Now  that  the  sun  is  fairly  risen,  I  see 
and  hear  a  flock  of  larks  in  Wheeler's  meadow  on  left 
of  the  Corner  road,  singing  exactly  as  in  spring  and 
twittering  also,  but  rather  faintly  or  suppressedly,  as  if 
their  throats  had  grown  up  or  their  courage  were  less. 

March  26, 1855.  The  lark  sings,  perched  on  the  top 
of  an  apple  tree,  seel-yah  seel-yah,  and  then  perhaps  seel- 
yah-see-e^  and  several  other  strains,  quite  sweet  and  plain- 
tive, contrasting  with  the  cheerless  season  and  the  bleak 
meadow.   Further  off  I  hear  one  like  ah-tick-seel-yah. 

March  28,  1858.  The  first  lark  of  the  23d  sailed 
through  the  meadow  with  that  peculiar  prolonged  chip- 
ping or  twittering  sound,  perhaps  sharp  clucking. 

[^See  also  under  Slate-colored  Junco,  p.  302.] 

BALTIMORE   ORIOLE ;    GOLDEN   ROBIN ;    FIERY   HANG- 
BIRD 

May  8,  1852.  Two  gold  robins  ;  they  chatter  like 
blackbirds ;  the  fire  bursts  forth  on  their  backs  when 
they  lift  their  wings. 

1  [See  note  to  Savannali  Sparrow,  p.  290.  ] 


BALTIMORE  ORIOLE  255 

May  18,  1852.  These  days  the  golden  robin  is  the 
important  bird  in  the  streets,  on  the  ehns. 

May  10,  1853.  You  hear  the  clear  whistle  and  see 
the  red  or  fiery  orange  of  the  oriole  darting  through 
Hosmer's  orchard.  But  its  note  is  not  melodious  and 
rich.  It  is  at  most  a  clear  tone,  the  healthiest  of  your 
city  beaux  and  belles. 

May  25,  1855.  The  golden  robin  keeps  whistling 
something  like  Eat  it,  Potter,  eat  it  f 

June  28, 1857.  I  hear  on  all  hands  these  days,  from 
the  elms  and  other  trees,  the  twittering  peep  of  young 
gold  robins,  which  have  recently  left  their  nests,  and 
apparently  indicate  their  locality  to  their  parents  by 
thus  incessantly  peeping  all  day  long. 

Dec.  22,  1859.  As  we  passed  under  the  elm  beyond 
George  Heywood's,  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  fiery  hang- 
bird's  nest  dangling  over  the  road.  What  a  reminis- 
cence of  summer,  a  fiery  hangbird's  nest  dangling  from 
an  elm  over  the  road  when  perhaps  the  thermometer 
is  down  to  —20  (  ?),  and  the  traveller  goes  beating  his 
arms  beneath  it !  It  is  hard  to  recall  the  strain  of  that 
bird  then. 

\_See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  426, 
430.] 

RUSTY  BLACKBIRD  ;  RUSTY  GKACKLE  ;  GRACKLE  ' 

April  9, 1855.  Wilson  says  that  the  only  note  of  the 
rusty  grackle  is  a  chuck,  though  he  is  told  that  at  Hud- 
son's Bay,  at  the  breeding-time,  they  sing  with  a  fine 

^  [So  usually  called  by  Thoreau,  who  used  only  the  name  crow  black- 
bird for  the  bird  now  commonly  called  the  bronzed  grackle.] 


256     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

note.^  Here  they  utter  not  only  a  chuck,  hut  a^ne  shrill 
whistle.  They  cover  the  top  o£  a  tree  now,  and  their 
concert  is  of  this  character :  They  all  seem  laboring  to- 
gether to  get  out  a  clear  strain,  as  it  were  wetting  their 
whistles  against  their  arrival  at  Hudson's  Bay.  They 
begin  as  it  were  by  disgorging  or  spitting  it  out,  like  so 
much  tow,  from  a  full  throat,  and  conclude  with  a  clear, 
fine,  shrill,  ear-piercing  whistle.  Then  away  they  go,  all 
chattering  together. 

April  11,  1856.  Going  up  the  railroad,  I  see  a  male 
and  female  rusty  grackle  alight  on  an  oak  near  me,  the 
latter  apparently  a  flaxen  brown,  with  a  black  tail.  She 
looks  like  a  different  species  of  bird.  Wilson  had  heard 
only  a  tchuck  from  the  grackle,  but  this  male,  who  was 
courting  his  mate,  broke  into  incipient  warbles,  like  a 
bubble  burst  as  soon  as  it  came  to  the  surface,  it  was  so 
aerated.  Its  air  would  not  be  fixed  long  enough. 

Oct.  14,  1857.  I  see  a  large  flock  of  grackles,  prob- 
ably young  birds,  quite  near  me  on  William  Wheeler's 
apple  trees,  pruning  themselves  and  trying  to  sing. 
They  never  succeed  ;  make  a  sort  of  musical  splutter- 
ing. Most,  I  think,  have  brownish  heads  and  necks,  and 
some  purple  reflections  from  their  black  bodies. 

Oct.  16,  1857.  I  saw  some  blackbirds,  apparently 
grackles,  singing,  after  their  fashion,  on  a  tree  by  the 
river.  Most  had  those  grayish-brown  heads  and  necks ; 
some,  at  least,  much  ferruginous  or  reddish  brown 
reflected.  They  were  pruning  themselves  and  splitting 
their  throats  in  vain,  trying  to  sing  as  the  other  day. 

^  [The  only  song  they  are  known  to  possess  is  the  whistle  that  Thoreau 
here  describes.] 


RUSTY  BLACKBIRD  267 

All  the  melody  flew  off  in  splinters.  Also  a  robin  sings 
once  or  twice,  just  as  in  spring ! 

March  18,  1858.  The  blackbird  —  probably  graokle 
this  time  —  wings  his  way  direct  above  the  swamp  north- 
ward, with  a  regular  tchuck,  carrier  haste,  calling  the 
summer  months  along,  like  a  hen  her  chickens. 

Oct.  16,  1858.  See  a  large  flock  of  grackles  steer- 
ing for  a  bare  elm-top  near  the  meadows.  As  they  fly 
athwart  my  view,  they  appear  successively  rising  half  a 
foot  or  a  foot  above  one  another,  though  the  flock  is  mov- 
ing straight  forward.  I  have  not  seen  red-wings  for  a 
long  while,  but  these  birds,  which  went  so  much  further 
north  to  breed,  are  still  arriving  from  those  distant  re- 
gions, fetching  the  year  about. 

March  14,  1859.  I  see  a  large  flock  of  grackles 
searching  for  food  along  the  water's  edge,  just  below 
Dr.  Bartlett's.  Some  wade  in  the  water.  They  are  within 
a  dozen  rods  of  me  and  the  road.  It  must  be  something 
just  washed  up  that  they  are  searching  for,  for  the  water 
has  just  risen  and  is  still  rising  fast.  Is  it  not  insects 
and  worms  washed  out  of  the  grass  ?  and  perhaps  the 
snails  ?  When  a  grackle  sings,  it  is  as  if  his  mouth 
were  full  of  cotton,  which  he  was  trying  to  spit  out. 

March  8, 1860.  Seeasmall  flock  of  grackles  on  the  wil- 
low-row above  railroad  bridge.  How  they  sit  and  make  a 
business  of  chattering !  for  itcannot  be  called  singing,  and 
no  improvement  from  age  to  age  perhaps.  Yet,  as  nature 
is  a  becoming,  their  notes  may  become  melodious  at  last. 
At  length,  on  my  very  near  approach,  they  flit  suspiciously 
away,  uttering  a  few  subdued  notes  as  they  hurry  off. 

\^See  also  under  Blackbirds,  p.  260.] 


258    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

BRONZED  GRACKLE  ;  CROW  BLACKBIRD 

3fay  11,  1854.  Now  at  last  I  see  crow  blackbirds 
without  doubt.  .  .  .  They  fly  as  if  carrying  or  drag- 
ging their  precious  long  tails,  broad  at  the  end,  through 
the  air.  Their  note  is  like  a  great  rusty  spring,  and  also 
a  hoarse  chuck. 

June  6,  1854.  A  crow  blackbird's  nest  in  a  white 
maple  this  side  the  Leaning  Hemlocks,  in  a  crotch  seven 
or  eight  feet  from  ground  ;  somewhat  like  a  robin's, 
but  larger,  made  of  coarse  weed  stems,  mikania, 
and  cranberry  vines  (without  leaves),  fish-lines,  etc., 
without,  and  of  mud  lined  with  finer  fibres  or  roots 
within ;  four  large  but  blind  young  covered  with  dark 
down. 

Ajyril  14,  1855.  I  see  half  a  dozen  crow  blackbirds 
uttering  their  coarse  rasping  char  char,  like  great  rusty 
springs,  on  the  top  of  an  elm  by  the  riverside ;  and 
often  at  each  char  they  open  their  great  tails.  They  also 
attain  to  a  clear  whistle  with  some  effort,  but  seem  to 
have  some  difficulty  in  their  throats  yet. 

3Iay  11,  1855.  A  crow  blackbird's  nest,  about  eight 
feet  up  a  white  maple  over  water,  —  a  large,  loose  nest 
without,  some  eight  inches  high,  between  a  small  twig 
and  main  trunk,  composed  of  coarse  bark  shreds  and 
dried  last  year's  grass,  without  mud  ;  within  deep  and 
size  of  robin's  nest ;  with  four  pale-green  eggs,  streaked 
and  blotched  with  black  and  brown.  Took  one.  Young 
bird  not  begun  to  form. 

Feb.  3,  1856.  Analyzed  the  crow  blackbird's  nest 
from  which  I  took  an  egg  last  summer,  eight  or  ten  feet 


;j. 


CROW   BLACKBIRD  259 

up  a  white  maple  by  river,  opposite  Island.  Large,  of 
an  irregular  form,  appearing  as  if  wedged  in  between  a 
twig  and  two  large  contiguous  trunks.  From  outside  to 
outside  it  measures  from  six  to  eight  inches ;  inside, 
four ;  depth,  two  ;  height,  six.  The  foundation  is  a  loose 
mass  of  coarse  strips  of  grape-vine  bark  chiefly,  some 
eighteen  inches  long  by  five  eighths  of  an  inch  wide  ;  also 
slender  grass  and  weed  stems,  mikania  stems,  a  few  cellu- 
lar river  weeds,  as  rushes,  sparganium,  pipe-grass,  and 
some  soft,  coarse,  fibrous  roots.  The  same  coarse  grape- 
vine bark  and  grass  and  weed  stems,  together  with  some 
harder,  wiry  stems,  form  the  sides  and  rim,  the  bark 
being  passed  around  the  twig.  The  nest  is  lined  with 
the  finer  grass  and  weed  stems,  etc.  The  solid  part  of 
the  nest  is  of  half-decayed  vegetable  matter  and  mud, 
full  of  fine  fibrous  roots  and  wound  internally  with  grass 
stems,  etc.,  and  some  grape  bark,  being  an  inch  and  a 
half  thick  at  bottom.  Pulled  apart  and  lying  loose,  it 
makes  a  great  mass  of  material.  This,  like  similar 
nests,  is  now  a  great  haunt  for  spiders. 

April  15, 1856.  Coming  up  from  the  riverside,  I  hear 
the  harsh  rasping  char-r  char-r  of  the  crow  blackbird, 
like  a  very  coarsely  vibrating  metal,  and,  looking  up, 
see  three  flying  over. 

BLACKBIRDS    (MISCELLANEOUS) 

May  8,  1852.  The  blackbirds  fly  in  flocks  and  sing 
in  concert  on  the  willows,  —  what  a  lively,  chattering 
concert !  a  great  deal  of  chattering  with  many  liquid 
and  rich  warbling  notes  and  clear  whistles,  —  till  now 
a  hawk  sails  low,  beating  the  bush,  and  they  are  silent 


260    NOTES  ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

or  off,  but  soon  begin  again.  Do  any  other  birds  sing 
in  such  deafening  concert  ? 

March  18, 1853.  Several  times  I  hear  and  see  black- 
birds flying  north  singly,  high  overhead,  chucking  as  if  to 
find  their  mates,  migrating;  or  are  they  even  now  getting 
near  their  own  breeding-place?  Perchance  these  are 
blackbirds  that  were  hatched  here,  —  that  know  me  ! 

March  29,  1853.  It  would  be  worth  the  while  to  at- 
tend more  to  the  different  notes  of  the  blackbirds.  Me- 
thinks  I  may  have  seen  the  female  red-wing  within  a 
day  or  two  ;  or  what  are  these  purely  black  ones  without 
the  red  shoulder  ?  *  It  is  pleasant  to  see  them  scattered 
about  on  the  drying  meadow.  The  red-wings  will  stand 
close  to  the  water's  edge,  looking  larger  than  usual, 
with  their  red  shoulders  very  distinct  and  handsome  in 
that  position,  and  sing  okolee^  or  hoh-y-lee,  or  what-not. 
Others,  on  the  tops  of  trees  over  your  head,  out  of  a 
fuzzy  beginning  spit  forth  a  clear,  shrill  whistle  inces- 
santly, for  what  purpose  I  don't  know.  Others,  on  the 
elms  over  the  water,  utter  still  another  note,  each  time 
lifting  their  wings  slightly.  Others  are  flying  across  the 
stream  with  a  loud  char-r^  char-r. 

Aj)ril  4,  1853.  After  turning  Lee's  Cliff  I  heard, 
methinks,  more  birds  singing  even  than  in  fair  weather, 
—  tree  sparrows,  whose  song  has  the  character  of  the 
canary's,  J^.  hyemalis' s  cMll-lill,  the  sweet  strain  of  the 
fox- colored  sparrow,  song'  sparrows,  a  nuthatch,  jays, 
crows,  bluebirds,  robins,  and  a  large  congregation  of 
blackbirds.  They  suddenly  alight  with  great  din  in  a 
stubble-field  just  over  the  wall,  not  perceiving  me  and 

^  [This  was  before  he  had  learned  to  distinguish  the  rusty  blackbird.] 


BLACKBIRDS  261 

my  umbrella  behind  the  pitch  pines,  and  there  feed 
silently  ;  then,  getting  uneasy  or  anxious,  they  fly  up  on 
to  an  apple  tree,  where  being  reassured,  commences  a 
rich  but  deafening  concert,  o-gurgle-ee-e^  o-gurgle-ee-e^ 
some  of  the  most  liquid  notes  ever  heard,  as  if  pro- 
duced by  some  of  the  water  of  the  Pierian  spring,  flow- 
ing through  some  kind  of  musical  water-pipe  and  at  the 
same  time  setting  in  motion  a  multitude  of  fine  vibrat- 
ing metallic  springs.  Like  a  shepherd  merely  meditat- 
ing most  enrapturing  glees  on  such  a  water-pipe,  A 
more  liquid  bagpipe  or  clarionet,  immersed  like  bubbles 
in  a  thousand  sprayey  notes,  the  bubbles  half  lost  in 
the  spray.  When  I  show  myself,  away  they  go  with  a 
loud  harsh  charr-r,  charr-r.  At  first  I  had  heard  an  in- 
undation of  blackbirds  approaching,  some  beating  time 
with  a  loud  chuck,  chuck,  while  the  rest  played  a  hur- 
ried, gurgling  fugue. 

June  11,  1853.  Probably  blackbirds  were  never  less 
numerous  along  our  river  than  in  these  years.  They  do 
not  depend  on  the  clearing  of  the  woods  and  the  culti- 
vation of  orchards,  etc.  Streams  and  meadows,  in  which 
they  delight,  always  existed.  Most  of  the  towns,  soon 
after  they  were  settled,  were  obliged  to  set  a  price  upon 
their  heads.  In  1672,  according  to  the  town  records  of 
Concord,  instruction  was  given  to  the  selectmen,  "  That 
incorigment  be  given  for  the  destroying  of  blackbirds 
and  jaies."  (Shattuck,^  page  45.) 

April  3,  1856.  Hear  also  squeaking  notes  of  an  ad- 
vancing flock  of  red-wings,^  somewhere  high  in  the  sky. 

1  [Lemuel  Shattuck'a  History  of  Concord.] 

^  Or  grackles  ;  am  uncertain  which  makes  that  squeak. 


262     NOTES    ON   NEW    ENGLAND   BIRDS 
At  lensrth  detect  them  hi2:li  overhead,  advaneino:  north- 

o  o  o 

east  in  loose  array,  with  a  broad  extended  front,  com- 
peting with  each  other,  winging  their  way  to  some 
northern  meadow  which  they  remember.  The  note  of 
some  is  like  the  squeaking  of  many  signs,  while  others 
accompany  them  with  a  steady  dry  tchuck.  tchucJc. 

Aug.  18,  1858.  I  also  see  large  flocks  of  blackbirds, 
blackish  birds  with  chattering  notes.  It  is  a  fine  sight 
when  you  can  look  down  on  them  just  as  they  are  set- 
tling on  the  ground  with  outspread  wings,  —  a  hovering 
flock. 

March  13,  1859.  I  see  a  small  flock  of  blackbirds 
flying  over,  some  rising,  others  falling,  yet  all  advancing 
together,  one  flock  but  many  birds,  some  silent,  others 
tchucking,  —  incessant  alternation.  This  harmonious 
movement  as  in  a  dance,  this  agreeing  to  differ,  makes 
the  charm  of  the  spectacle  to  me.  One  bird  looks  frac- 
tional, naked,  like  a  single  thread  or  ravelling  from  the 
web  to  which  it  belongs.  Alternation!  Alternation! 
Heaven  and  hell!  Here  again  in  the  flight  of  a  bird,  its 
ricochet  motion,  is  that  undulation  observed  in  so  many 
marerials.  as  in  the  mackerel  sky. 

March  28, 1859.  As  we  were  paddling  over  the  Great 
Meadows,  I  saw  at  a  distance,  high  in  the  air  above  the 
middle  of  the  meadow,  a  very  compact  flock  of  black- 
birds advancing:  as^ainst  the  sun.  Though  there  were 
more  than  a  hundred,  they  did  not  appear  to  occupy 
more  than  six  feet  in  breadth,  but  the  whole  flock  was 
dashincr  first  to  the  rio-ht  and  then  to  the  left.  When 
advancing  straight  toward  me  and  the  sun,  they  made 
but  little  impression  on  the  eye, — so  many  fine  dark 


BLACKBIRDS  263 

points  merely,  seen  against  the  sky, — but  as  often  as 
they  wheeled  to  the  right  or  left,  displaying  their  wings 
flatwise  and  the  whole  length  of  their  bodies,  they  were 
a  very  conspicuous  black  mass.  This  fluctuation  in  the 
amount  of  dark  surface  was  a  very  pleasing  phenome- 
non. It  reminded  me  of  those  blinds  whose  sashes  [-s/c] 
are  made  to  move  all  together  by  a  stick,  now  admitting 
nearly  all  the  light  and  now  entirely  excluding  it ;  so 
the  flock  of  blackbirds  opened  and  shut.  But  at  length 
they  suddenly  spread  out  and  dispersed,  some  flying 
off  this  way,  and  others  that,  as,  when  a  wave  strikes 
against  a  cliff,  it  is  dashed  upward  and  lost  in  fine 
spray.  So  they  lost  their  compactness  and  impetus  and 
broke  up  suddenly  in  mid-air. 

April  25, 1860.  I  hear  the  greatest  concerts  of  black- 
birds—  red-wings  and  crow  blackbirds  —  nowadays,  es- 
pecially of  the  former  (also  the  22d  and  29th).  The 
maples  and  willows  along  the  river,  and  the  button- 
bushes,  are  all  alive  with  them.  They  look  like  a  black 
fruit  on  the  trees,  distributed  over  the  top  at  pretty 
equal  distances.  It  is  worth  while  to  see  how  slyly  they 
hide  at  the  base  of  the  thick  and  shaggy  button-bushes 
at  this  stage  of  the  water.  They  will  suddenly  cease 
their  strains  and  flit  away  and  secrete  themselves  low 
amid  these  bushes  till  you  are  past ;  or  you  scare  up  an 
unexpectedly  large  flock  from  such  a  place,  where  you 
had  seen  none. 

I  pass  a  large  quire  in  full  blast  on  the  oaks,  etc.,  on 
the  island  in  the  meadow  northwest  of  Peter's.  Sud- 
denly they  are  hushed,  and  I  hear  the  loud  rippling 
rush  made  by  their  wings  as  they  dash  away,  and,  look- 


264     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

ing  up,  I  see  what  I  take  to  be  a  sharp-shinned  hawk 
just  alighting  on  the  trees  where  they  were,  having 
failed  to  catch  one.  They  retreat  some  forty  rods  off, 
to  another  tree,  and  renew  their  concert  there.  The 
hawk  plumes  himself,  and  then  flies  off,  rising  gradually 
and  beginning  to  circle,  and  soon  it  joins  its  mafe,  and 
soars  with  it  high  in  the  sky  and  out  of  sight,  as  if  the 
thought  of  so  terrestrial  a  thing  as  a  blackbird  had 
never  entered  its  head.  It  appeared  to  have  a  plain  red- 
dish-fawn breast.  The  size  more  than  anything  made 
me  think  it  a  sharp-shin. 

\_See   also  under   General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp. 
412,  413,  425.] 


XV 

FINCHES 

PINE    GROSBEAK 

Dec.  24,  1851.  Saw  also  some  pine  grosbeaks,  mag- 
nificent winter  birds,  among  the  weeds  and  on  the  apple 
trees ;  like  large  catbirds  at  a  distance,  but,  nearer  at 
hand,  some  of  them,  when  they  flit  by,  are  seen  to  have 
gorgeous  heads,  breasts,  and  rumps  (?),  with  red  or 
crimson  reflections,  more  beautiful  than  a  steady  bright 
red  would  be.  The  note  I  heard,  a  rather  faint  and  in- 
nocent whistle  of  two  bars. 

July  15,  1858.  When  half-way  down  the  mountain,* 
amid  the  spruce,  we  saw  two  pine  grosbeaks,  male  and 
female,  close  by  the  path,  and  looked  for  a  nest,  but 
in  vain.  They  were  remarkably  tame,  and  the  male  a 
brilliant  red  orange,  —  neck,  head,  breast  beneath,  and 
rump,  —  blackish  wings  and  tail,  with  two  white  bars 
on  wings.  (Female,  yellowish.)  The  male  flew  nearer 
inquisitively,  uttering  a  low  twitter,  and  perched  fear- 
lessly within  four  feet  of  us,  eying  us  and  pluming 
himself  and  plucking  and  eating  the  leaves  of  the 
Amelanchier  oligocarpa  on  which  he  sat,  for  several 
minutes.  The  female,  meanwhile,  was  a  rod  off.  They 
were  evidently  breeding  there.  Yet  neither  Wilson  nor 
Nuttall  speak  of  their  breeding  in  the  United  States.- 

[/See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous.] 

*  [Mt.  Lafayette.] 

2  [The  pine  grosbeak  breeds  very  sparingly  in  the  White  Moautsin 


266     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

PURPLE   FINCH 

Oct.  7,  1842.  A  little  girl  has  just  brought  me  a 
purple  finch,  or  American  linnet.  These  birds  are  now 
moving  south.  It  reminds  me  of  the  pine  and  spruce, 
and  the  juniper  and  cedar  on  whose  berries  it  feeds.  It 
has  the  crimson  hues  of  the  October  evenings,  and  its 
plumage  still  shines  as  if  it  had  caught  and  preserved 
some  of  their  tints  (beams?).  We  know  it  chiefly  as  a 
traveller.  It  reminds  me  of  many  things  I  had  forgot- 
ten. Many  a  serene  evening  lies  snugly  packed  under 
its  wing. 

April  15,  1854.  The  arrival  of  the  purple  finches 
appears  to  be  coincident  with  the  blossoming  of  the 
elm,  on  whose  blossom  it  feeds. 

May  24,  1855.  Heard  a  purple  finch  sing  more  than 
one  minute  without  pause,  loud  and  rich,  on  an  elm 
over  the  street.  Another  singing  very  faintly  on  a 
neighboring  elm. 

April  12,  1856.  There  suddenly  flits  before  me  and 
alights  on  a  small  apple  tree  in  Mackay's  field,  as  I  go 
to  my  boat,  a  splendid  purple  finch.  Its  glowing  red- 
ness is  revealed  when  it  lifts  its  wings,  as  when  the 
ashes  is  blown  from  a  coal  of  fire.  Just  as  the  oriole 
displays  its  gold. 

region.  Mr.  J.  E.  Cabot's  statement  in  the  Atlantic  for  December,  1857, 
that  he  had  seen  the  bird  "  at  the  White  Mountains  in  August"  seems 
to  have  escaped  Thoreau's  attention.  Perhaps  the  descendants  of  these 
birds  of  Thoreau's  still  haunt  the  mountain.  Thirty  years  later  at  least, 
in  June,  18§8,  the  writer,  in  company  with  Mr.  Bradford  Torrey,  found 
several  pine  grosbeaks  high  up  on  Lafayette  and  heard  from  two  of 
them  their  beautiful  song.] 


RED  CROSSBILL  267 

April  3, 1858.  Going  down-town  this  morning,  I  am 
surprised  by  the  rich  strain  of  the  purple  finch  from  the 
elms.  Three  or  four  have  arrived  and  lodged  asrainst 
the  elms  of  our  street,  which  runs  east  and  west  across 
their  course,  and  they  are  now  mingling  their  loud  and 
rich  strains  with  that  of  the  tree  sparrows,  robins, 
bluebirds,  etc.  The  hearing  of  this  note  implies  some 
improvement  in  the  acoustics  of  the  air.  It  reminds 
me  of  that  genial  state  of  the  air  when  the  elms  are  in 
bloom.  They  sit  still  over  the  street  and  make  a  busi- 
ness of  warbling.  They  advertise  me  surely  of  some 
additional  warmth  and  serenity.  How  their  note  rings 
over  the  roofs  of  the  village!  You  wonder  that  even 
the  sleepers  are  not  awakened  by  it  to  inquire  who  is 
there,  and  yet  probably  not  another  than  myself  in  all 
the  town  observes  their  coming,  and  not  half  a  dozen 
ever  distinguished  them  in  their  lives.  And  yet  the  very 
mob  of  the  town  know  the  hard  names  of  Germanians 
or  Swiss  families  which  once  sang  here  or  elsewhere. 

RED   CROSSBILL 

April  13,  1860.  At  first  I  had  felt  disinclined  to 
make  this  excursion  up  the  Assabet,  but  it  distinctly  oc- 
curred to  me  that,  perhaps,  if  I  came  against  my  will, 
as  it  were,  to  look  at  the  sweet-gale  as  a  matter  of 
business,  I  might  discover  something  else  interesting, 
as  when  I  discovered  the  sheldrake.  As  I  was  paddling 
past  the  uppermost  hemlocks  I  saw  two  peculiar  and 
plump  birds  near  me  on  the  bank  there  which  reminded 
me  of  the  cow  blackbird  and  of  the  oriole  at  first.  I 
saw  at  once  that  they  were  new  to  me,  and  guessed 


268     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

that  they  were  crossbills,  which  was  the  case,  —  male 
and  female.  The  former  was  dusky-greenish  (through 
a  glass),  orange,  and  red,  the  orange,  etc.,  on  head, 
breast,  and  rump,  the  vent  white ;  dark,  large  bill ;  the 
female  more  of  a  dusky  slate-color,  and  yellow  instead 
of  orange  and  red.  They  were  very  busily  eating  the 
seeds  of  the  hemlock,  whose  cones  were  strewn  on  the 
ground,  and  they  were  very  fearless,  allowing  me  to  ap- 
proach quite  near. 

When  I  returned  this  way  I  looked  for  them  again, 
and  at  the  larger  hemlocks  heard  a  peculiar  note,  cAee^, 
cheep,  cheep,  cheep,  in  the  rhythm  of  a  fish  hawk  but 
faster  and  rather  loud,  and  looking  up  saw  them  fly  to 
the  north  side  and  alight  on  the  top  of  a  swamp  white 
oak,  while  I  sat  in  my  boat  close  under  the  south  bank. 
But  immediately  they  recrossed  and  went  to  feeding  on 
the  bank  within  a  rod  of  me.  They  were  very  parrot- 
like both  in  color  (especially  the  male,  greenish  and 
orange,  etc.)  and  in  their  manner  of  feeding,  —  holding 
the  hemlock  cones  in  one  claw  and  rapidly  extracting 
the  seeds  with  their  bills,  thus  trying  one  cone  after 
another  very  fast.  But  they  kept  their  bills  a-going  so 
that,  near  as  they  were,  I  did  not  distinguish  the  cross. 
I  should  have  looked  at  them  in  profile.  At  last  the  two 
hopped  within  six  feet  of  me,  and  one  within  four  feet, 
and  they  were  coming  still  nearer,  as  if  partly  from 
curiosity,  though  nibbling  the  cones  all  the  while,  when 
my  chain  fell  down  and  rattled  loudly,  —  for  the  wind 
shook  the  boat,  —  and  they  flew  off  a  rod.  In  Bechstein^ 

1  [J.  M.  Bechstein,  M.  D.,  Cage,  and  Chamber-Birds,  translated  from 
the  German  and  edited  by  H.  G.  Adams,  London,  1853,  p.  174.] 


LESSER   REDPOLL  269 

I  read  that  "it  frequents  fir  and  pine  woods,  but  only 
when  there  are  abundance  of  the  cones."  It  may  be 
that  the  abundance  of  white  pine  cones  last  fall  had 
to  do  with  their  coming  here.  The  hemlock  cones  were 
very  abundant  too,  methinks. 

LESSER    redpoll;    LINARIA 

Wov.  12,  1852.  Saw  a  flock  of  little  passenger  birds  * 
by  Walden,  busily  pecking  at  the  white  birch  catkins ; 
about  the  size  of  a  chickadee  ;  distinct  white  bar  on 
wings ;  most  with  dark  pencilled  breast,  some  with  whit- 
ish ;  forked  tail ;  bright  chestnut  or  crimson  (?)  front- 
let ;  yellowish  shoulders  or  sack.  When  startled,  they 
went  off  with  a  jingling  sound  somewhat  like  emptying 
a  bag  of  coin.  Is  it  the  yellow  redpoll  ? 

Dec.  9,  1852.  Those  little  ruby-crowned  wrens  (?)  ^ 
still  about.  They  suddenly  dash  away  from  this  side  to 
that  in  flocks,  with  a  tumultuous  note,  half  jingle,  half 
rattle,  like  nuts  shaken  in  a  bag,  or  a  bushel  of  nut- 
shells, soon  returning  to  the  tree  they  had  forsaken  on 
some  alarm.  They  are  oftenest  seen  on  the  white  birch, 
apparently  feeding  on  its  seeds,  scattering  the  scales 
about. 

Jan.  3,  1853.  The  red-crowns  here  still.  They  ap- 
pear to  frequent  one  clump  of  birches  a  long  time,  for 
here  the  snow  beneath  is  covered  with  the  seeds  they 
have  loosened,  while  elsewhere  there  are  none.  They 
hang  by  the  twigs  while  they  peck  the  catkins,  and 
others  are  busy  on  the  snow  beneath,  picking  up  what 

1  Fringilla  linaria  [now  called  Acanthis  linaria,  the  redpoll]. 

2  Lesser  redpolls. 


270     NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

drops.  They  are  continually  in  motion,  with  a  jingling 
twitter  and  occasional  mew,  and  suddenly,  when  dis- 
turbed, go  off  with  a  loud  jingle  like  the  motion  of  a 
whole  bag  of  nuts. 

March  5,  1853.  F.  Brown  *  showed  me  to-day  some 
lesser  redpolls  which  he  shot  yesterday.  Thej^  turn  out 
to  be  my  falsely-called  chestnut-frontleted  bird  of  the 
winter.  "  Linaria  minor,  Ray.  Lesser  Redpoll  Linnet. 
From  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey  to  Maine,  in  win- 
ter ;  inland  to  Kentucky.  Breeds  in  Maine,  Nova 
Scotia,^  Newfoundland,  Labrador,  and  the  Fur  Coun- 
tries."—  Audubon's  Synopsis.  They  have  a  sharp  bill, 
black  legs  and  claws,  and  a  bright-crimson  crown  or 
frontlet,  in  the  male  reaching  to  the  base  of  the  bill, 
with,  in  his  case,  a  delicate  rose  or  carmine  on  the 
breast  and  rump.  Though  this  is  described  by  Nuttall 
as  an  occasional  visitor  in  the  winter,  it  has  been  the 
prevailing  bird  here  this  winter. 

Dec.  19, 1854.  Off  Clamshell  I  heard  and  saw  a  large 
flock  of  Fringilla  linaria  over  the  meadow.  .  .  .  Sud- 
denly they  turn  aside  in  their  flight  and  dash  across 
the  river  to  a  large  white  birch  fifteen  rods  off,  which , 
plainly  they  had  distinguished  so  far.  I  afterward  saw 
many  more  in  the  Potter  swamp  up  the  river.  They 
were  commonly  brown  or  dusky  above,  streaked  with 
yellowish  white  or  ash,  and  more  or  less  white  or  ash 
beneath.  Most  had  a  crimson  crown  or  frontlet,  and  a 
few  a  crimson  neck  and  breast,  very  handsome.   Some 

^  [Frank  Brown,  of  Concord,  who  made  a  collection  of  mounted  birds.] 
2  [There  are  no  authentic  records  of  the  bird's  breeding  in  Maine  or 
Nova  Scotia.] 


LESSER  REDPOLL  271 

with  a  bright-crimson  crown  and  clear-white  breasts.  I 
suspect  that  these  were  young  males.  They  keep  up  an 
incessant  twittering,  varied  from  time  to  time  witli 
some  mewing  notes,  and  occasionally,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  they  will  all  suddenly  dash  away  with  that  uni- 
versal loud  note  (twitter)  like  a  bag  of  nuts.  They  are 
busily  clustered  in  the  tops  of  the  birches,  picking  the 
seeds  out  of  the  catkins,  and  sustain  themselves  in  all 
kinds  of  attitudes,  sometimes  head  downwards,  while 
about  this.  Common  as  they  are  now,  and  were  winter 
before  last,  I  saw  none  last  winter. 

Jan.  19,  1855.  It  may  be  that  the  linarias  come  into 
the  gardens  now  not  only  because  all  nature  is  a  wilder- 
ness to-day,  but  because  the  woods  where  the  wind  has 
not  free  play  are  so  snowed  up,  the  twigs  are  so  deeply 
covered,  that  they  cannot  readily  come  at  their  food. 

Jan.  20,  1855.  I  see  the  tracks  of  countless  little 
birds,  probably  redpolls,  where  these  have  run  over 
broad  pastures  and  visited  every  weed,  — Johns  wort  and 
coarse  grasses,  —  whose  oat-like  seed-scales  or  hulls 
they  have  scattered  about.  It  is  surprising  they  did  not 
sink  deeper  in  the  light  snow.  Often  the  impression  is 
so  faint  that  they  seem  to  have  been  supported  by  their 
wings. 

Jan.  24,  1860.  See  a  large  flock  of  lesser  redpolls, 
eating  the  seeds  of  the  birch  (and  perhaps  alder)  in 
Dennis  Swamp  by  railroad.  They  are  distinct  enough 
from  the  goldfinch,  their  note  more  shelly  and  gen- 
eral as  they  fly,  and  they  are  whiter,  without  the  black 
wings,  beside  that  some  have  the  crimson  head  or  head 
and  breast.  They  alight  on  the  birches,  then  swarm  on 


272     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

the  snow  beneath,  busily  picking  up  the  seed  in  the 
copse. 

Jan.  27,  1860.  Half  a  dozen  redpolls  busily  picking 
the  seeds  out  of  the  larch  cones  behind  Monroe's.  They 
are  pretty  tame,  and  I  stand  near.  They  perch  on  the 
slender  twigs  which  are  beaded  with  cones,  and  swing 
and  teeter  there  while  they  perseveringly  peck  at  them, 
trying  now  this  one,  now  that,  and  sometimes  appearing 
to  pick  out  and  swallow  them  quite  fast.  I  notice  no  red- 
ness or  carmine  at  first,  but  when  the  top  of  one's  head 
comes  between  me  and  the  sun  it  unexpectedly  glows. 

Jan.  29,  1860.  To-day  I  see  quite  a  flock  of  the  les- 
ser redpolls  eating  the  seeds  of  the  alder,  picking  them 
out  of  the  cones  just  as  they  do  the  larch,  often  head 
downward ;  and  I  see,  under  the  alders,  where  they 
have  run  and  picked  up  the  fallen  seeds,  making  chain- 
like tracks,  two  parallel  lines. 

[>iSiee  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp. 
419-421.] 

AMERICAN    GOLDFINCH 

July  24, 1852.  I  heard  this  afternoon  the  cool  water 
twitter  of  the  goldfinch,  and  saw  the  bird.  They  come 
with  the  springing  aftermath.  It  is  refreshing  as  a  cup 
of  cold  water  to  a  thirsty  man  to  hear  them,  now  only 
one  at  a  time. 

Aug.  26, 1856.  As  I  stand  there,  a  young  male  gold- 
finch darts  away  with  a  twitter  from  a  spear  thistle 
top  close  to  my  side,  and,  alighting  near,  makes  frequent 
returns  as  near  to  me  and  the  thistle  as  it  dares  pass, 
not  yet  knowing  man  well  enough  to  fear  him. 


AMERICAN   GOLDFINCH  273 

Aug.  28, 1856.  A  goldfinch  twitters  away  from  every 
thistle  now,  and  soon  returns  to  it  when  I  am  past.  I 
see  the  ground  strewn  with  the  thistle-down  they  have 
scattered  on  every  side. 

April  19,  1858.  I  hear  the  pine  warbler  there,  and 
also  what  I  thought  a  variation  of  its  note,  quite  differ- 
ent, yet  I  thought  not  unfamiliar  to  me.  Afterwards, 
along  the  wall  under  the  Middle  Conantum  Cliff,  I  saw 
many  goldfinches,  male  and  female,  the  males  singing 
in  a  very  sprightly  and  varied  manner,  sitting  still  on 
bare  trees.  Also  uttered  their  watery  twitter  and  their 
peculiar  mewing.  In  the  meanwhile  I  heard  a  faint 
thrasher's  note,  as  if  faintly  but  perfectly  imitated  by 
some  bird  twenty  or  thirty  rods  off.  This  surprised  me 
very  much.  It  was  equally  rich  and  varied,  and  yet  I 
did  not  believe  it  to  be  a  thrasher.  Determined  to  find 
out  the  singer,  I  sat  still  with  my  glass  in  hand,  and  at 
length  detected  the  singer,  a  goldfinch  sitting  within 
gunshot  all  the  while.  This  was  the  most  varied  and 
sprightly  performer  of  any  bird  I  have  heard  this  year, 
and  it  is  strange  that  I  never  heard  the  strain  before. 
It  may  be  this  note  which  is  taken  for  the  thrasher's 
before  the  latter  comes. 

Aug.  9, 1858.  Edward  Bartlett  shows  me  this  morn- 
ing a  nest  which  he  found  yesterday.  It  is  saddled  on 
the  lowest  horizontal  branch  of  an  apple  tree  in  Abel 
Heywood's  orchard,  against  a  small  twig,  and  answers 
to  Nuttall's  description  of  the  goldfinch's  nest,  which 
it  probably  is.  The  eggs  were  five,  pure  white  or  with 
a  faint  bluish  green  tinge,  just  begun  to  be  developed. 
I  did  not  see  the  bird. 


274    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

It  is  but  little  you  learn  of  a  bird  in  this  irregular 
way,  —  having  its  nest  and  eggs  shown  you.  How 
much  more  suggestive  the  sight  of  the  goldfinch  going 
off  on  a  jaunt  over  the  hills,  twittering  to  its  plainer 
consort  by  its  side ! 

The  goldfinch  nest  of  this  forenoon  is  saddled  on  a 
horizontal  twig  of  an  apple,  some  seven  feet  from  ground 
and  one  third  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  supported  on  one 
side  by  a  yet  smaller  branch,  also  slightly  attached  to 
another  small  branch.  It  measures  three  and  one  half 
inches  from  outside  to  outside,  one  and  three  quarters 
inside,  two  and  one-half  from  top  to  bottom,  or  to  a 
little  below  the  twig,  and  one  and  one  half  inside.  It  is 
a  very  compact,  thick,  and  warmly  lined  nest,  slightly 
incurving  on  the  edge  within.  It  is  composed  of  fine 
shreds  of  bark  —  grape-vine  and  other  —  and  one  piece 
of  twine,  with,  more  externally,  an  abundance  of  pale- 
brown  slender  catkins  of  oak  (?)  or  hickory  (?),  mixed 
with  effete  apple  blossoms  and  their  peduncles,  show- 
ing little  apples,  and  the  petioles  of  apple  leaves,  some- 
times with  half-decayed  leaves  of  this  year  attached, 
last  year's  heads  of  lespedeza,  and  some  other  heads 
of  weeds,  with  a  little  grass  stem  or  weed  stem,  all 
more  or  less  disguised  by  a  web  of  white  spider  or  cater- 
pillar silk,  spread  over  the  outside.  It  is  thickly  and 
very  warmly  lined  with  (apparently)  short  thistle-down, 
mixed  with  which  you  see  some  grape-vine  bark,  and 
the  rim  is  composed  of  the  same  shreds  of  bark,  catkins, 
and  some  fine  fibrous  stems,  and  two  or  three  hairs  (of 
horse)  mixed  with  wool  (?)  ;  for  only  the  hollow  is  lined 


AMERICAN   GOLDFINCH  275 

with  the  looser  or  less  tenacious  thistle-down.  This  nest 
shows  a  good  deal  of  art. 

Aug.  11,  1858.  Heard  a  fine,  sprightly,  richly  war- 
bled strain  from  a  bird  perched  on  the  top  of  a  bean- 
pole. It  was  at  the  same  time  novel  yet  familiar  to  me. 
I  soon  recognized  it  for  the  strain  of  the  purple  liucli, 
which  I  have  not  heard  lately.  But  though  it  appeared 
as  large,  it  seemed  a  different-colored  bird.  AVith  my 
glass,  four  rods  oft",  I  saw  it  to  be  a  goldfinch.  It  kept 
repeating  this  warble  of  the  purple  finch  for  several 
minutes.  A  very  surprising  note  to  be  heard  now,  when 
birds  generally  are  so  silent.  Have  not  heard  the  purple 
finch  of  late.  I  conclude  that  the  goldfinch  is  a  very 
fine  and  powerful  singer,  and  the  most  successful  and 
remarkable  mocking-bird  that  we  have.  In  the  spring  I 
heard  it  imitate  the  thrasher  exactly,  before  that  bird  had 
arrived,  and  now  it  imitates  the  purple  finch  as  perfectly, 
after  the  latter  bird  has  ceased  to  sing !  It  is  a  surprising 
vocalist.  It  did  not  cease  singing  till  I  disturbed  it  by 
my  nearer  approach,  and  then  it  went  off  with  its  usual 
meio,  succeeded  by  its  watery  twitter  in  its  ricochet  flight. 

Aug.  14,  1858.  The  Canada  thistle  down  is  now 
begun  to  fly,  and  I  see  the  goldfinch  upon  it.  Cardu- 
elis}  Often  when  I  watch  one  go  off,  he  flies  at  first  one 
way,  rising  and  falling,  as  if  skimming  close  over  un- 
seen billows,  but  directly  makes  a  great  circuit  as  if  he 
had  changed  his  mind,  and  disappears  in  the  opposite 
direction,  or  is  seen  to  be  joined  there  by  his  mate. 

Dec.  22, 1858.   P.  M.  —  To  Walden. 

1  [Nuttall  placed  the  American  g-oldfinch  with  the  European  bird  in 
the  subgenus  Carduelis,  from  carduus,  thistle.] 


276     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

I  see  in  the  cut  near  the  shanty-site  quite  a  flock  of 
F.  hyenialis  ^  and  goldfinches  together,  on  the  snow 
and  weeds  and  ground.  Hear  the  well-known  mew  and 
watery  twitter  of  the  last  and  the  drier  chilt  chilt  of  the 
former.  These  burning  yellow  birds  with  a  little  black 
and  white  on  their  coat-flaps  look  warm  above  the  snow. 
There  may  be  thirty  goldfinches,  very  brisk  and  pretty 
tame.  They  hang  head  downwards  on  the  weeds.  I 
bear  of  their  coming  to  pick  sunflower  seeds  in  Melvin's 
garden  these  days. 

March  24, 1859.  Returning,  above  the  railroad  cause- 
way, I  see  a  flock  of  goldfinches,  first  of  spring^  flitting 
along  the  causeway-bank.  They  have  not  yet  the  bright 
plumage  they  will  have,  but  in  some  lights  might  be 
mistaken  for  sparrows.  There  is  considerable  difference 
in  color  between  one  and  another,  but  the  flaps  of  their 
coats  are  black,  and  their  heads  and  shoulders  more  or 
less  yellow.  They  are  eating  the  seeds  of  the  mullein 
and  the  large  primrose,  clinging  to  the  plants  sidewise 
in  various  positions  and  pecking  at  the  seed-vessels. 

Nov.  15,  1859.  About  the  23d  of  October  I  saw  a 
large  flock  of  goldfinches  (judging  from  their  motions 
and  notes)  on  the  tops  of  the  hemlocks  up  the  Assabet, 
apparently  feeding  on  their  seeds,  then  falling.  They 
were  collected  in  great  numbers  on  the  very  tops  of  these 
trees  and  flitting  from  one  to  another.  Rice  has  since 
described  to  me  the  same  phenomenon  as  observed  by 
him  there  since  (says  he  saw  the  birds  picking  out  the 
seeds),  though  he  did  not  know  what  birds  they  were. 
William  Rice  says  that  these  birds  get  so  much  of  the 
^  [Now  called  Junco  hyemalis,  the  slate-colored  snowbird.] 


SNOW   BUNTING  277 

lettuce  seed  that  you  can  hardly  save  any.  They  get 
sunflower  seeds  also.  Are  called  "  lettuce-birds "  in 
the  books. 

SNOW    BUNTING;   ARCTIC   SNOWBIRD 

Dec.  29,  1853.  The  driving  snow  blinds  you,  and 
where  you  are  protected,  you  can  see  but  little  way, 
it  is  so  thick.  Yet  in  spite,  or  on  account,  of  all,  I  see 
the  first  flock  of  arctic  snowbirds  (^Emheriza  nivalis^ 
near  the  depot,  white  and  black,  with  a  sharp,  whistle- 
like note.  .  .  .  These  are  the  true  winter  birds  for  you, 
these  winged  snowballs.  I  could  hardly  see  them,  the 
air  was  so  full  of  driving  snow.  What  hardy  creatures! 
Where  do  they  spend  the  night? 

Jan.  2,  1854.  A  flock  of  snow  buntings  flew  over  the 
fields  with  a  rippling  whistle,  accompanied  sometimes 
by  a  tender  peep  and  a  ricochet  motion. 

Jan.  2,  1856.  Crossing  the  railroad  at  the  Heywood 
meadow,  I  saw  some  snow  buntings  rise  from  the  side 
of  the  embankment,  and  with  surging,  rolling  flight 
wing  their  way  up  through  the  cut. 

Returning,  I  saw,  near  the  back  road  and  railroad, 
a  small  flock  of  eight  snow  buntings  feeding  on  the 
seeds  of  the  pigweed,  picking  them  from  the  snow,  — 
appariently  flat  on  the  snow,  their  legs  so  short, —  and, 
when  I  approached,  alighting  on  the  rail  fence.  They 
were  pretty  black,  with  white  wings  and  a  brown  cres- 
cent on  their  breasts.  They  have  come  with  this  deeper 
snow  and  colder  weather. 

^  [Now  called  Plectrophenax  nivalis.] 


278     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Jan.  6,  1856.  While  I  am  making  a  path  to  the 
pump,  I  hear  hurried  rippling  notes  of  birds,  look  up, 
and  see  quite  a  flock  of  snow  buntings  coming  to  alight 
amid  the  currant-tops  in  the  yard.  It  is  a  sound  almost 
as  if  made  with  their  wings.  What  a  pity  our  yard  was 
made  so  tidy  in  the  fall  with  rake  and  fire,  and  we  have 
now  no  tall  crop  of  weeds  rising  above  this  snow  to 
invite  these  birds ! 

Jan.  21,  1857.  As  I  flounder  along  the  Corner  road 
against  the  root  fence,  a  very  large  flock  of  snow  bunt- 
ings alight  with  a  wheeling  flight  amid  the  weeds  rising 
above  the  snow  in  Potter's  heater  piece,*  —  a  hundred 
or  two  of  them.  They  run  restlessly  amid  the  weeds,  so 
that  I  can  hardly  get  sight  of  them  through  my  glass ; 
then  suddenly  all  arise  and  fly  only  two  or  three  rods, 
alighting  within  three  rods  of  me.  (They  keep  up  a 
constant  twittering.)  It  was  as  if  they  were  any  instant 
ready  for  a  longer  flight,  but  their  leader  had  not  so 
ordered  it.  Suddenly  away  they  sweep  again,  and  I  see 
them  alight  in  a  distant  field  where  the  weeds  rise  above 
the  snow,  but  in  a  few  minutes  they  have  left  that  also  and 
gone  further  north.  Beside  their  rijypling  note,  they  have 
a  vibratory  twitter,  and  from  the  loiterers  you  hear  quite 
a  tender  peep,  as  they  fly  after  the  vanishing  flock. 

What  independent  creatures!  They  go  seeking  their 
food  from  north  to  south.  If  New  Hampshire  and 
Maine  are  covered  deeply  with  snow,  they  scale  down 

^  [A  "  heater  piece,"  in  the  parlance  of  old  New  England,  is  a  tri- 
angular plot  of  ground,  so  called  from  its  resemblance  in  shape  to  a 
flat-iron  heater,  a  triangular  piece  of  cast  iron  which  was  heated  and 
put  into  the  old-fashioned  flat-ironij 


SNOW  BUNTING  279 

to  Massachusetts  for  their  breakfasts.  Not  liking  the 
grain  in  this  field,  away  they  clash  to  another  distant 
one,  attracted  by  the  weeds  rising  above  the  snow.  Who 
can  guess  in  what  field,  by  what  river  or  mountain 
they  breakfasted  this  morning.  They  did  not  seem  to 
regard  me  so  near,  but  as  they  went  off,  their  wave 
actually  broke  over  me  as  a  rock.  They  have  the  plea- 
sure of  society  at  their  feasts,  a  hundred  dining  at  once, 
busily  talking  while  eating,  remembering  what  occurred 
at  Grinnell  Land.  As  they  flew  past  me  they  presented 
a  pretty  appearance,  somewhat  like  broad  bars  of  white 
alternating  with  bars  of  black. 

March  2,  1858.  See  a  large  flock  of  snow  buntings, 
the  white  birds  of  the  winter,  rejoicing  in  the  snow.  I 
stand  near  a  flock  in  an  open  field.  They  are  trotting 
about  briskly  over  the  snow  amid  the  weeds,  —  appar- 
ently pigweed  and  Roman  wormwood,  —  as  it  were  to 
keep  their  toes  warm,  hopping  up  to  the  weeds.  Then 
they  restlessly  take  to  wing  again,  and  as  they  wheel 
about  one,  it  is  a  very  rich  sight  to  see  them  dressed  in 
black  and  white  uniforms,  alternate  black  and  white, 
very  distinct  and  regular.  Perhaps  no  colors  would  be 
more  effective  above  the  snow,  black  tips  (considerably 
more)  to  wings,  then  clear  white  between  this  and  the 
back,  which  is  black  or  very  dark  again.  One  wonders 
if  they  are  aware  what  a  pleasing  uniform  appearance 
they  make  when  they  show  their  backs  thus.  They 
alight  again  equally  near.  Their  track  is  much  like  a 
small  crow's  track,  showing  a«long  heel  and  furrowing 
the  snow  between  with  their  toes. 

Nov.  7,  1858.  Going  up  the  lane  beyond  Farmer's, 


280    NOTES  ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

I  was  surprised  to  see  fly  up  from  the  white,  stony 
road,  two  snow  buntings,  which  alighted  again  close 
by,  one  on  a  large  rock,  the  other  on  the  stony  ground. 
They  had  pale-brown  or  tawny  touches  on  the  white 
breast,  on  each  side  of  the  head,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
head,  in  the  last  place  with  some  darker  color.  Had 
light-yellowish  bills.  They  sat  quite  motionless  within 
two  rods,  and  allowed  me  to  approach  within  a  rod,  as 
if  conscious  that  the  white  rocks,  etc.,  concealed  them. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  were  attracted  to  surfaces  of  the 
same  color  with  themselves,  —  white  and  black  (or  quite 
dark)  and  tawny.  One  squatted  flat,  if  not  both.  Their 
soft  rippling  notes  as  they  went  off  reminded  me  of  the 
northeast  snow-storms  to  which  ere  long  they  are  to  be 
an  accompaniment. 

Dec.  12, 1858.  P.  M.  —  Up  river  on  ice  to  Fair  Haven 
Hill. 

Crossing  the  fields  west  of  our  Texas  *  house,  I  see  an 
immense  flock  of  snow  buntings,  I  think  the  largest  that 
I  ever  saw.  There  must  be  a  thousand  or  two  at  least. 
There  is  but  three  inches,  at  most,  of  crusted  and  dry 
frozen  snow,  and  they  are  running  amid  the  weeds  which 
rise  above  it.  The  weeds  are  chiefly  Juncus  tenuis  (?), 
but  its  seeds  are  apparently  gone.  I  find,  however,  the 
glumes  of  the  piper  grass  ^  scattered  about  where  they 
have  been.  The  flock  is  at  first  about  equally  divided 
into  two  parts  about  twenty  rods  apart,  but  birds  are 

1  ["  Texas  "  was  a  part  of  Copcord  where  the  Thoreau  family  lived 
from  1844  to  1850.] 

^  [A  local  name  for  the  couch,  quitch,  or  witch  grass  {Agropyron 
repens).     See  Walden,  Riverside  Literature  Series,  Notes,  p.  391.] 


SNOW   BUNTING  281 

incessantly  flitting  across  the  interval  to  join  the  pio- 
neer flock,  until  all  are  united.  They  are  very  restless, 
running  amid  the  weeds  and  continually  changing  their 
ground.  They  will  suddenly  rise  again  a  few  seconds 
after  they  have  alighted,  as  if  alarmed,  but  after  a  short 
wheel  settle  close  by.  Flying  from  you,  in  some  posi- 
tions, you  see  only  or  chiefly  the  black  part  of  their 
bodies,  and  then,  as  they  wheel,  the  white  comes  into 
view,  contrasted  prettily  with  the  former,  and  in  all 
together  at  the  same  time.  Seen  flying  higher  against  a 
cloudy  sky,  they  look  like  large  snowflakes.  When  they 
rise  all  together  their  note  is  like  the  rattling  of  nuts  in 
a  bag,  as  if  a  whole  binf ul  were  rolled  from  side  to  side. 
They  also  utter  from  time  to  time — i.  e.,  individuals 
do  —  a  clear  rippling  note,  perhaps  of  alarm,  or  a  call. 
It  is  remarkable  that  their  notes  above  described  should 
resemble  the  lesser  redpoll's !  Away  goes  this  great 
wheeling,  rambling  flock,  rolling  through  the  air,  and 
you  cannot  easily  tell  where  they  will  settle.  Suddenly 
the  pioneers  (or  a  part  not  foremost)  will  change  their 
course  when  in  full  career,  and  when  at  length  they 
know  it,  the  rushing  flock  on  the  other  side  will  be 
fetched  about  as  it  were  with  an  undulating  jerk,  as  in 
the  boys'  game  of  snap-the-whip,  and  those  that  occupy 
the  place  of  the  snapper  are  gradually  off  after  their 
leaders  on  the  new  tack.  As  far  as  I  observe,  they  con- 
fine themselves  to  upland,  not  alighting  in  the  meadows. 
Like  a  snow-storm  they  come  rushing  down  from  the 
north.  The  extremities  of  the  wings  are  black,  while  tlio 
parts  next  their  bodies  are  black  [sic^.  They  are  unusu- 
ally abundant  now. 


282     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Jan.  6, 1859.  Near  Nut  Meadow  Brook,  on  the  Jimmy 
Miles  road,  I  see  a  flock  of  snow  buntings.  They  are 
feeding  exclusively  on  .  .  .  Roman  wormwood.  Their 
tracks  where  they  sink  in  the  snow  are  very  long,  i.  e., 
have  a  very  long  heel,  thus  : 

or  sometimes  almost  in  a  single  straight  line.  They  made 
notes  when  they  went,  —  sharp,  rippling,  like  a  vibrat- 
ing spring.  They  had  run  about  to  every  such  such  \_sic\^ 
leaving  distinct  tracks  raying  from  and  to  them,  while 
the  snow  immediately  about  the  weed  was  so  tracked  and 
pecked  where  the  seeds  fell  that  no  track  was  distinct. 


And  much  more  tracked  up 

March  3,  1859.  Going  by  the  solidago  oak  ^  at  Clam- 
shell Hill  bank,  I  heard  a  faint  rippling  note  and,  look- 
ing up,  saw  about  fifteen  snow  buntings  sitting  in  the 
top  of  the  oak,  all  with  their  breasts  toward  me, — 
sitting  so  still  and  quite  white,  seen  against  the  white 
cloudy  sky,  they  did  not  look  like  birds  but  the  ghosts 
of  birds,  and  their  boldness,  allowing  me  to  come  quite 
^  [A  particular  tree  bo  named  by  Thoreau.] 


SNOW   BUNTING  283 

near,  enhanced  this  impression.  These  were  ahuost  as 
white  as  snowballs,  and  from  time  to  time  I  heard  a 
low,  soft  rippling  note  from  them.  I  could  see  no  fea- 
tures, but  only  the  general  outline  of  plump  birds  in 
white.  It  was  a  very  spectral  sight,  and  after  I  had 
watched  them  for  several  minutes,  I  can  hardly  say  tiiat 
I  was  prepared  to  see  them  fly  away  like  ordinary  bunt- 
ings when  I  advanced  further.  At  first  they  were  al- 
most concealed  by  being  almost  the  same  color  with 
the  cloudy  sky. 

Dec.  23,  1859.  In  this  slight  snow  I  am  surprised  to 
see  countless  tracks  of  small  birds,  which  have  run  over 
it  in  every  direction  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  this 
great  meadow  since  morning.  By  the  length  of  the  hind 
toe  I  know  them  to  be  snow  buntings.  Indeed,  soon  after 
I  see  them  running  still  on  one  side  of  the  meadow.  I 
was  puzzled  to  tell  what  they  got  by  running  there.  Yet 
I  [saw  them]  stopping  repeatedly  and  picking  up  some- 
thing. Of  course  I  thought  of  those  caterpillars  which 
are  washed  out  by  a  rain  and  freshet  at  this  season,  but 
I  could  not  find  one  of  them.  It  rained  on  the  18th  and 
again  the  20th,  and  over  a  good  part  of  the  meadow 
the  top  of  the  stubble  left  by  the  scythe  rises  a  little 
above  the  ice,  i.  e.  an  inch  or  two,  not  enough  to  disturb 
a  skater.  The  birds  have  run  here  chiefly,  visiting  each 
little  collection  or  tuft  of  stubble,  and  found  their  food 
chiefly  in  and  about  this  thin  stubble.  I  examined  such 
places  a  long  time  and  very  carefully,  but  I  could  not 
find  there  the  seed  of  any  plant  whatever.  It  was  merely 
the  stubble  of  sedge,  with  never  any  head  left,  and  a 
few  cranberry  leaves  projecting.  All  that  I  could  find 


284    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

was  pretty  often  (in  some  places  very  often)  a  little 
black,  or  else  a  brown,  spider  (sometimes  quite  a  large 
one)  motionless  on  the  snow  or  ice ;  and  therefore  I  am 
constrained  to  think  that  they  eat  them,  for  I  saw  them 
running  and  picking  in  exactly  such  places  a  little  way 
from  me,  and  here  were  their  tracks  all  around.  Yet 
they  are  called  graminivorous  [sic].  Wilson  says  that 
he  has  seen  them  feeding  on  the  seeds  of  aquatic  plants 
on  the  Seneca  River,  clinging  to  their  heads.  I  think  he 
means  wool-grass.  Yet  its  seeds  are  too  minute  and  in- 
volved in  the  wool.  Though  there  was  wool-grass  here- 
abouts, the  birds  did  not  go  near  it.  To  be  sure,  it  has 
but  little  seed  now.  If  they  are  so  common  at  the  ex- 
treme north,  where  there  is  so  little  vegetation  but  per- 
haps a  great  many  spiders,  is  it  not  likely  that  they  feed 
on  these  insects  ? 

It  is  interesting  to  see  how  busy  this  flock  is,  explor- 
ing this  great  meadow  to-day.  If  it  were  not  for  this 
slight  snow,  revealing  their  tracks  but  hardly  at  all  con- 
cealing the  stubble,  I  should  not  suspect  it,  though  I 
might  see  them  at  their  work.  Now  I  see  them  running 
briskly  over  the  ice,  most  commonly  near  the  shore, 
where  there  is  most  stubble  (though  very  little)  ;  and 
they  explore  the  ground  so  fast  that  they  are  continu- 
ally changing  their  ground,  and  if  I  do  not  keep  my 
eye  on  them  I  lose  the  direction.  Then  here  they  come, 
with  a  stiff  rip  of  their  wings  as  they  suddenly  wheel, 
and  those  peculiar  rippling  notes,  flying  low  quite  across 
the  meadow,  half  a  mile  even,  to  explore  the  other  side, 
though  that  too  is  already  tracked  by  them.  Not  the 
fisher  nor  skater  range  the  meadow  a  thousandth  part 


VESPER  SPARROW;   BAY-WING     285 

so  much  in  a  week  as  these  birds  in  a  day.  They  hardly 
notice  me  as  they  come  on.  Indeed,  the  flock,  flyinj^ 
about  as  high  as  my  head,  divides,  and  half  passes 
on  each  side  of  me.  Thus  they  sport  over  these  broad 
meadows  of  ice  this  pleasant  winter  day.  The  spiders  lie 
torpid  and  plain  to  see  on  the  snow,  and  if  it  is  they 
that  they  are  after  they  never  know  what  kills  them. 

Jan.  3, 1860.  Saw  four  snow  buntings  by  the  railroad 
causeway,  just  this  side  the  cut,  quite  tame.  They  arose 
and  alighted  on  the  rail  fence  as  we  went  by.  Very 
stout  for  their  length.  Look  very  pretty  when  they  fly 
and  reveal  the  clear  white  space  on  their  wings  next  the 
body,  —  white  between  the  blacks.  They  were  busily 
eating  the  seed  of  the  piper  grass  on  the  embankment 
there,  and  it  was  strewn  over  the  snow  by  them  like  oats 
in  a  stable.  Melvin  speaks  of  seeing  flocks  of  them  on 
the  river  meadows  in  the  fall,  when  they  are  of  a  dififer- 
ent  color. 

\^See  also  under  Vesper  Sparrow,  below;  General 
and  Miscellaneous,  p.  431.] 

VESPER   SPARROW  ;   GRASS   FINCH  ;    BAY- WING 

Jan.  1,  1854.  The  white-in-tails,  or  grass  finches, 
linger  pretty  late,  flitting  in  flocks  before,  but  they  come 
so  near  winter  only  as  the  white  in  their  tail  indicates. 
They  let  it  come  near  enough  to  whiten  their  tails,  per- 
chance, and  they  are  off.  The  snow  buntings  and  the 
tree  sparrows  are  the  true  spirits  of  the  snow-storm ; 
they  are  the  animated  beings  that  ride  upon  it  and  have 
their  life  in  it. 

July  15,  1854.  I  hear  a  bay-wing  on  the  wall  near 


286     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

by,  sounding  far  away,  —  a  fainter  song  sparrow  strain, 
somewhat.  I  see  its  open  mouth  and  quivering  throat, 
yet  can  hardly  believe  the  seemingly  distant  strain  pro- 
ceeds from  it,  yaw  yaw^  twee  twee^  twitter  twitter^  te  twee 
twe  tw  tw  tw,  and  so  ends  with  a  short  and  rapid  trill. 

Ajjril  29,  1855.  This  morning  it  snows,  but  the 
ground  is  not  yet  whitened.  This  will  probably  take 
the  cold  out  of  the  air.  Many  chip-birds  are  feeding 
in  the  yard,  and  one  bay-wing.  The  latter  incessantly 
scratches  like  a  hen,  all  the  while  looking  about  for 
foes.  The  bay  on  its  wings  is  not  obvious  except  when 
it  opens  them.  The  white  circle  about  the  eye  is  visible 
afar.  Now  it  makes  a  business  of  pluming  itself ,  doubling 
prettily  upon  itself,  now  touching  the  root  of  its  tail, 
now  thrusting  its  head  under  its  wing,  now  between  its 
wing  and  back  above,  and  now  between  its  legs  and  its 
belly ;  and  now  it  drops  flat  on  its  breast  and  belly 
and  spreads  and  shakes  its  wings,  noV  stands  up  and 
repeatedly  shakes  its  wings.  It  is  either  cleaning  itself 
of  dirt  acquired  in  scratching  and  feeding,  — for  its  feet 
are  black  with  mud, — or  it  is  oiling  its  feathers  thus.  It 
is  rather  better  concealed  by  its  color  than  the  chip- 
bird  with  its  chestnut  crown  and  light  breast.  The 
chip-bird  scratches  but  slightly  and  rarely;  it  finds 
what  it  wants  on  the  surface,  keeps  its  head  down  more 
steadily,  not  looking  about.  I  see  the  bay-wing  eat 
some  worms. 

April  13,  1856.  I  hear  a  bay-wing  on  the  railroad 
fence  sing  —  the  rhythm  —  somewhat  like,  char  char 
(or  here  here^,  che  che,  chip  chip  chip  (fast),  chitter 
chitter  chitter  chit  (very  fast  and  jingling),  tchea  tchea 


VESPER   SPARROW;   BAY- WING     287 

(jinglingly).  It  has  another  strain,  considerably  differ- 
ent, but  a  second  also  sings  the  above.  Two  on  different 
posts  are  steadily  singing  the  same,  as  if  contending 
with  each  other,  notwithstanding  the  cold  wind. 

June  23,  1856.  Bay-wings  sang  morning  and  even- 
ing about  R.'s  house,*  often  sitting  on  a  bean-pole  and 
dropping  down  and  running  and  singing  on  the  bare 
ground  amid  the  potatoes.  Its  note  somewhat  like 
Come^  here  here,  there  there,  —  quick  quick  quick  (fast), 
—  or  I  ^m  gone. 

May  12,  1857.  While  dropping  beans  in  the  garden 
at  Texas  ^  just  after  sundown  (May  13th),  I  hear  from 
across  the  fields  the  note  of  the  bay-wing.  Come  here 
here  there  there  quick  quick  quick  or  I  'm  gone,  (which 
I  have  no  doubt  sits  on  some  fence-post  or  rail  there), 
and  it  instantly  translates  me  from  the  sphere  of  my 
work  and  repairs  all  the  world  that  we  jointly  inhabit. 
It  reminds  me  of  so  many  country  afternoons  and  even- 
ings when  this  bird's  strain  was  heard  far  over  the 
fields,  as  I  pursued  it  from  field  to  field.  The  spirit  of 
its  earth-song,  of  its  serene  and  true  philosophy,  was 
breathed  into  me,  and  I  saw  the  world  as  through  a 
glass,  as  it  lies  eternally.  Some  of  its  aboriginal  con- 
tentment, even  of  its  domestic  felicity,  possessed  me. 
What  he  suggests  is  permanently  true.  As  the  bay-wing 
sang  many  a  thousand  years  ago,  so  sang  he  to-night.  In 
the  beginning  God  heard  his  song  and  pronounced  it 
good,  and  hence  it  has  endured.    It  reminded  me  of 

1  [Mr.  Daniel  Ricketson's  honse  in  New  Bedford,  where  Thoreaa  was 

visiting.] 

2  [See  note  on  p.  280.] 


288     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

many  a  summer  sunset,  of  many  miles  of  gray  rails,  of 
many  a  rambling  pasture,  of  the  farmhouse  far  in  the 
fields,  its  milk-pans  and  well-sweep,  and  the  cows  com- 
ing home  from  pasture. 

I  would  thus  from  time  to  time  take  advice  of  the 
birds,  correct  my  human  views  by  listening  to  their 
volucral  (?).  He  is  a  brother  poet,  this  small  gray  bird 
(or  bard),  whose  muse  inspires  mine.  His  lay  is  an  idyl 
or  pastoral,  older  and  sweeter  than  any  that  is  classic. 
He  sits  on  some  gray  perch  like  himself,  on  a  stake,  per- 
chance, in  the  midst  of  the  field,  and  you  can  hardly 
see  him  against  the  ploughed  ground.  You  advance  step 
by  step  as  the  twilight  deepens,  and  lo  !  he  is  gone,  and 
in  vain  you  strain  your  eyes  to  see  whither,  but  anon 
his  tinkling  strain  is  heard  from  some  other  quarter. 
One  with  the  rocks  and  with  us. 

Methinks  I  hear  these  sounds,  have  these  reminis- 
cences, only  when  well  employed,  at  any  rate  only  when 
I  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  my  employment. 
I  am  often  aware  of  a  certain  compensation  of  this  kind 
for  doing  something  from  a  sense  of  duty,  even  uncon- 
sciously. Our  past  experience  is  a  never-failing  capital 
which  can  never  be  alienated,  of  which  each  kindred 
future  event  reminds  us.  If  you  would  have  the  song 
of  the  sparrow  inspire  you  a  thousand  years  hence,  let 
your  life  be  in  harmony  with  its  strain  to-day. 

I  ordinarily  plod  along  a  sort  of  whitewashed  prison 
entry,  subject  to  some  indifferent  or  even  grovelling 
mood.  I  do  not  distinctly  realize  my  destiny.  I  have 
turned  down  my  light  to  the  merest  glimmer  and  am 
doing  some  task  which  I  have  set  myself.  I  take  in- 


VESPER   SPARROW;   BAY-WING      289 

credibly  narrow  views,  live  on  the  limits,  and  have  no 
recollection  of  absolute  truth.  Mushroom  institutions 
hedge  me  in.  But  suddenly,  in  some  fortunate  moment, 
the  voice  of  eternal  wisdom  reaches  me,  even  in  the 
strain  of  the  sparrow,  and  liberates  me,  whets  and  clar- 
ifies my  senses,  makes  me  a  competent  witness. 

April  2,  1858.  On  the  side  of  Fair  Haven  Hill  I  go 
looking  for  bay- wings,  turning  my  glass  to  each  spar- 
row on  a  rock  or  tree.  At  last  I  see  one,  which  flies 
right  up  straight  from  a  rock  eighty  or  one  hundred 
feet  and  warbles  a  peculiar  long  and  pleasant  strain, 
after  the  manner  of  the  skylark,  methiuks,  and  close  by 
I  see  another,  apparently  a  bay-wing,  though  I  do  not 
see  its  white  in  tail,  and  it  utters  while  sitting  the  same 
subdued,  rather  peculiar  strain. 

April  15,  1859.  The  bay-wing  now  sings  —  the  first 
I  have  been  able  to  hear — both  about  the  Texas  house 
and  the  fields  this  side  of  Hayden's,  both  of  them  sim- 
ilar dry  and  open  pastures.  I  heard  it  just  before  noon, 
when  the  sun  began  to  come  out,  and  at  3  P.  M.,  sing- 
ing loud  and  clear  and  incessantly.  It  sings  with  a  pleas- 
ing deliberation,  contrasting  with  the  spring  vivacity 
of  the  song  sparrow,  whose  song  many  would  confound 
it  with.  It  comes  to  revive  with  its  song  the  dry  uplands 
and  pastures  and  grass-fields  about  the  skirts  of  vil- 
lages. Only  think  how  finely  our  life  is  furnished  in  all 
its  details,  —  sweet  wild  birds  provided  to  fill  its  in- 
terstices with  song !  It  is  provided  that  while  we  are 
employed  in  our  corporeal,  or  intellectual,  or  other,  ex- 
ercises we  shall  be  lulled  and  amused  or  cheered  by 
the  sinoing:  of  birds.  When  the  laborer  rests  on  his 


290     NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS  . 

spade  to-day,  the  sun  having  just  come  out,  he  is  not 
left  wholly  to  the  mercy  of  his  thoughts,  nature  is  not 
a  mere  void  to  him,  but  he  can  hardly  fail  to  hear  the 
pleasing  and  encouraging  notes  of  some  newly  arrived 
bird.  The  strain  of  the  grass  finch  is  very  likely  to  fall 
on  his  ear  and  convince  him,  whether  he  is  conscious 
of  it  or  not,  that  the  world  is  beautiful  and  life  a  fair 
enterprise  to  engage  in.  It  will  make  him  calm  and 
contented.  If  you  yield  for  a  moment  to  the  impres- 
sions of  sense,  you  hear  some  bird  giving  expression 
to  its  happiness  in  a  pleasant  strain.  We  are  provided 
with  singing  birds  and  with  ears  to  hear  them.  What 
an  institution  that !  Nor  are  we  obliged  to  catch  and 
cage  them,  nor  to  be  bird-fanciers  in  the  common  sense. 
Whether  a  man's  work  be  hard  or  easy,  whether  he  be 
happy  or  unhappy,  a  bird  is  appointed  to  sing  to  a  man 
while  he  is  at  his  work. 

SAVANNAH   SPARROW;    SERINGO-BIRD 

May  1,  1852.  I  hear  the  note  of  the  shy  Savannah 
sparrow  (i^.  Savanna),^  that  plump  bird  with  a  dark- 

^  Probably  have  seen  it  before,  —  seringo.  [Though  here,  where  the 
''  seringo-bird  "  makes  its  first  appearance  in  the  Journal,  its  identity 
•with  the  Savannah  sparrow  seems  to  have  been  unquestioned  by  Tho- 
reau,  it  proved  afterwards  to  be  almost  as  puzzling  to  him  as  the  ever 
elusive  "  night-warbler."  The  probability  is  that  the  "  aeringo "  in 
this  and  most  other  eases  was  the  Savannah  sparrow,  but  it  may  some- 
times have  been  the  yellow-winged,  or  grasshopper,  sparrow,  or  even, 
as  Thoreau  once  suspected,  the  grass  finch,  or  vesper  sparrow.  It  is 
quite  likely  that  at  times  the  bird  he  saw  was  not  the  bird  he  heard. 
PassercuLus  sandivichensis  savanna  is  the  scientific  name  now  in  use. 
Only  a  few  of  the  many  references  to  the  bird  in  the  Journal  are  here 
given.] 


^(»^•(i  si'AUKDW 


VESPKr.  Sl'AKIIOW    <)\   NKST 


SAVANNAH  SPARROW  201 

streaked  breast  that  runs  and  hides  in  the  grass,  whose 
note  sounds  so  like  a  cricket's  in  the  gi-ass.  (I  used  to 
hear  it  when  I  walked  by  moonlight  last  summer.)  I 
hear  it  now  from  deep  in  the  sod, —  for  there  is  hardly 
grass  yet.  The  bird  keeps  so  low  you  do  not  see  it.  You 
do  not  suspect  how  many  there  are  till  at  length  their 
heads  appear.  The  word  seringo  reminds  me  of  its  note, 
—  as  if  it  were  produced  by  some  kind  of  fine  metallic 
spring.  It  is  an  earth-sound. 

March  18,  1853.  With  regard  to  my  seringo-bird 
(and  others),  I  think  that  my  good  genius  withheld  his 
Dame  that  I  might  learn  his  character. 

April  22,  1856.  The  seringo  also  sits  on  a  post,  with 
a  very  distinct  yellow  line  over  the  eye,  and  the  rhythm 
of  its  strain  is  ker  chick  \  her  che  \  ker-char-r-r-r-r  | 
chick,  the  last  two  bars  being  the  part  chiefly  heard. 

TREE   SPARROW 

April  2,  1853.  The  tree  sparrows  and  a  few  blue 
snowbirds  in  company  sing  (the  former)  very  sweetly 
in  the  garden  this  morning.  I  now  see  a  faint  spot  on 
the  breast.  It  says  something  like  a  twee  twee,  chit  chit, 
chit  chit  chee  var-r. 

Jan.  1, 1854.  The  snow  is  the  great  betrayer.  It  not 
only  shows  the  tracks  of  mice,  otters,  etc.,  etc.,  which 
else  we  should  rarely  if  ever  see,  but  the  tree  sparrows 
are  more  plainly  seen  against  its  white  ground,  and  they 
in  turn  are  attracted  by  the  dark  weeds  which  it  reveals. 
It  also  drives  the  crows  and  other  birds  out  of  the  woods 
to  the  villages  for  food. 

March  30,  1854.  Great  flocks  of  tree  sparrows  and 


292     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

some  F.  hyemalis  on  the  ground  and  trees  on  the  Island 
Neck,  making  the  air  and  bushes  ring  with  their  jin- 
gling. The  former  —  some  of  them  —  say  somewhat  like 
this :  a  che  che^  ter  twee  twee,  tweer  tweer  twa.  It 
sounded  like  a  new  bird. 

Aj)ril  19,  1854.  Hear  the  tree  sparrows  at  willow 
hedgerow  this  morning,  —  ah  ha  ha  yip  yip  yip  yip, 
or  twitter  twitter  twe  twe  twe,  or  ah  ha  ha  twitter  twit- 
ter twe,  —  very  canary-like,  yet  clear,  as  if  aspirated 
vowels  alone,  —  no  t  or  r. 

Dec.  4, 1856.  Saw  and  heard  cheep  faintly  one  little 
tree  sparrow,  the  neat  chestnut  crowned  and  winged  and 
white-barred  bird,  perched  on  a  large  and  solitary  white 
birch.  So  clean  and  tough,  made  to  withstand  the  win- 
ter. This  color  reminds  me  of  the  upper  side  of  the 
shrub  oak  leaf.  I  love  the  few  homely  colors  of  Nature 
at  this  season,  —  her  strong  wholesome  browns,  her 
sober  and  primeval  grays,  her  celestial  blue,  her  viva- 
cious green,  her  pure,  cold,  snowy  white. 

Dec.  17,  1856.  A  flock  of  a  dozen  or  more  tree  spar- 
rows flitting  through  the  edge  of  the  birches,  etc.,  by 
the  meadow  front  of  Puffer's.  They  make  excursions 
into  the  open  meadow  and,  as  I  approach,  take  refuge 
in  the  brush.  I  hear  their  ia,\nt  cheep,  a  very  feeble  evi- 
dence of  their  existence,  and  also  a  pretty  little  sup- 
pressed warbling  from  them. 

That  feeble  cheep  of  the  tree  sparrow,  like  the  tin- 
kling of  an  icicle,  or  the  chafing  of  two  hard  shrub  oak 
twigs,  is  probably  a  call  to  their  mates,  by  which  they 
keep  together.  These  birds,  when  perched,  look  larger 


( 


TREE   SPARROW  293 

than  usual  this  cold  and  windy  day :  they  are  puffed  up 
for  warmth,  have  added  a  porch  to  their  doors, 

Jan.  6,  1857.  Though  there  is  an  extremely  cold, 
cutting  northwest  wind,  against  which  I  see  many  trav- 
ellers turning  their  backs,  and  so  advancing,  I  hear  and 
see  an  unusual  numberof  merry  little  tree  sparrows  about 
the  few  weeds  that  are  to  be  seen.  They  look  very  chip- 
per, flitting  restlessly  about  and  jerking  their  long  tails. 

Oct.  13,  1857.  See  a  pretty  large  flock  of  tree  spar- 
rows, very  lively  and  tame,  drifting  along  and  pursuing 
each  other  along  a  bushy  fence  and  ditch  like  driving 
snow.  Two  pursuing  each  other  would  curve  upward 
like  a  breaker  in  the  air  and  drop  into  the  hedge  again. 

Nov.  20,  1857.  The  hardy  tree  sparrow  has  taken 
the  place  of  the  chipping  and  song  sparrow,  so  much 
like  the  former  that  most  do  not  know  it  is  another. 
His  faint  lisping  chip  will  keep  our  spirits  up  till  an- 
other spring. 

Jan.  6,  1858.  The  North  River  ^  is  not  frozen  over. 
I  see  tree  sparrows  twittering  and  moving  with  a  low 
creeping  and  jerking  motion  amid  the  chenopodium  in 
a  field,  upon  the  snow,  so  chubby  or  puffed  out  on  ac- 
count of  the  cold  that  at  first  I  took  them  for  the  arctic 
birds,  but  soon  I  see  their  bright-chestnut  crowns  and 
clear  white  bars;  as  the  poet  says, "a  thousand  feeding 
like  one,"  ^  —  though  there  are  not  more  than  a  dozen 
here. 

Jan.  7, 1858.  P.  M.  — I  see  some  tree  sparrows  feed- 
ing on  the  fine  grass  seed  above  the  snow,  near  the  road 

1  [The  Assabet,  or  North  Branch  of  the  Concord  River.] 

2  [Wordsworth  said,  ''  There  are  forty  feeding  like  one."] 


294    NOTES  ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

on  the  hillside  below  the  Dutch  house.  They  are  flit- 
ting along  one  at  a  time,  their  feet  commonly  sunk  in 
the  snow,  uttering  occasionally  a  low  sweet  warble  and 
seemingly  as  happy  there,  and  with  this  wintry  prospect 
before  them  for  the  night  and  several  months  to  come, 
as  any  man  by  his  fireside.  One  occasionally  hops  or 
flies  toward  another,  and  the  latter  suddenly  jerks  away 
from  him.  They  are  reaching  or  hopping  up  to  the  fine 
grass,  or  oftener  picking  the  seeds  from  the  snow.  At 
length  the  whole  ten  have  collected  within  a  space  a 
dozen  feet  square,  but  soon  after,  being  alarmed,  they 
utter  a  different  and  less  musical  chirp  and  flit  away 
into  an  apple  tree. 

March  20,  1858.  A.  M.  — By  river. 

The  tree  sparrow  is  perhaps  the  sweetest  and  most 
melodious  warbler  at  present  and  for  some  days.  It  is 
peculiar,  too,  for  singing  in  concert  along  the  hedge- 
rows, much  like  a  canary,  especially  in  the  mornings. 
Very  clear,  sweet,  melodious  notes,  between  a  twitter 
and  a  warble,  of  which  it  is  hard  to  catch  the  strain, 
for  you  commonly  hear  many  at  once. 

Dec.  17,  1859.  I  see  on  the  pure  white  snow  what 
looks  like  dust  for  half  a  dozen  inches  under  a  twig. 
Looking  closely,  I  find  that  the  twig  is  hardback  and 
the  dust  its  slender,  light-brown,  chaffy-looking  seed, 
which  falls  still  in  copious  showers,  dusting  the  snow, 
when  I  jar  it ;  and  here  are  the  tracks  of  a  sparrow  * 
which  has  jarred  the  twig  and  picked  the  minute  seeds 
a  long  time,  making  quite  a  hole  in  the  snow.  The  seeds 
are  so  fine  that  it  must  have  got  more  snow  than  seed  at 
^  [Very  likely  the  tree  sparrow,  which  feeds  largely  on  weed  seeds.] 


TREE   SPARROW  295 

each  peck.  But  they  probably  look  large  to  its  uiicro- 
scopic  eyes.  I  see,  when  I  jar  it,  that  a  meadow-sweet 
close  by  has  quite  similar,  but  larger,  seeds.  This  the 
reason,  then,  that  these  plants  rise  so  high  above  the 
snow  and  retain  their  seed,  dispersing  it  on  the  least  jar 
over  each  successive  layer  of  snow  beneath  them  ;  or  it 
is  carried  to  a  distance  by  the  wind.  What  abundance 
and  what  variety  in  the  diet  of  these  small  granivorous 
birds,  while  I  find  only  a  few  nuts  still !  These  stiff  weeds 
which  no  snow  can  break  down  hold  their  provender. 
What  the  cereals  are  to  men,  these  are  to  the  sparrows. 
The  only  threshing  they  require  is  that  the  birds  fly 
against  their  spikes  or  stalks.  A  little  further  I  see  the 
seed-box  (  ?)  (^Ludwigid)  full  of  still  smaller,  yellowish 
seeds.  And  on  the  ridge  north  is  the  track  of  a  partridge 
amid  the  shrubs.  It  has  hopped  up  to  the  low  clusters  of 
smooth  sumach  berries,  sprinkled  the  snow  with  them, 
and  eaten  all  but  a  few.  Also,  here  only,  or  where  it  has 
evidently  jarred  them  down  —  whether  intentionally  or 
not,  I  am  not  sure  —  are  the  large  oval  seeds  of  the  stiff- 
stalked  lespedeza,  which  I  suspect  it  ate,  with  the  sumach 
berries.  There  is  much  solid  food  in  them.  When  the 
snow  is  deep  the  birds  could  easily  pick  the  latter  out 
of  the  heads  as  they  stand  on  the  snow. 

Dec.  31, 1859.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  hemlock  scales 
scattered  over  the  recent  snow  (at  the  Hemlocks),  evi- 
dently by  birds  on  the  trees,  and  the  wind  has  blown 
them  southeast,  —  scales,  seeds,  and  cones,  —  and  I  see 
the  tracks  of  small  birds  that  have  apparently  picked 
the  seeds  from  the  snow  also.  It  may  have  been  done  by 
goldfinches.  I  see  a  tree  sparrow  hopping  close  by,  and 


296     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

perhaps  they  eat  them  on  the  snow.  Some  of  the  seeds 
have  blown  at  least  fifteen  rods  southeast.  So  the  hem- 
lock seed  is  important  to  some  birds  in  the  winter. 

Jan.  16,  1860.  I  see  a  flock  of  tree  sparrows  busily 
picking  something  from  the  surface  of  the  snow  amid 
some  bushes.  I  watch  one  attentively,  and  find  that  it  is 
feeding  on  the  very  fine  brown  chaffy-looking  seed  of 
the  panicled  andromeda.  It  understands  how  to  get  its 
dinner,  to  make  the  plant  give  down,  perfectly.  It  flies 
up  and  alights  on  one  of  the  dense  brown  panicles  of  the 
hard  berries,  and  gives  it  a  vigorous  shaking  and  beat- 
ing with  its  claws  and  bill,  sending  down  a  shower  of 
the  fine  chaffy-looking  seed  on  to  the  snow  beneath.  It 
lies  very  distinct,  though  fine  almost  as  dust,  on  the 
spotless  snow.  It  then  hops  down  and  briskly  picks  up 
from  the  snow  what  it  wants.  How  very  clean  and  agree- 
able to  the  imagination,  and  withal  abundant,  is  this 
kind  of  food !  How  delicately  they  fare !  These  dry 
persistent  seed-vessels  hold  their  crusts  of  bread  until 
shaken.  The  snow  is  the  white  table-cloth  on  which  they 
fall.  No  anchorite  with  his  water  and  his  crust  fares 
more  simply.  It  shakes  down  a  hundred  times  as  much 
as  it  wants  at  each  shrub,  and  shakes  the  same  or  an- 
other cluster  after  each  successive  snow.  How  bounti- 
fully Nature  feeds  them  !  No  wonder  they  come  to  spend 
the  winter  with  us,  and  are  at  ease  with  regard  to  their 
food.  These  shrubs  ripen  an  abundant  crop  of  seeds  to 
supply  the  wants  of  these  immigrants  from  the  far  north 
which  annually  come  to  spend  the  winter  with  us.  How 
neatly  and  simply  it  feeds ! 

This  shrub  grows  unobserved  by  most,  only  known 


TREE   SPARROW  297 

to  botanists,  and  at  length  matures  its  hard,  dry  seed- 
vessels,  which,  if  noticed,  are  hardly  supposed  to  contain 
seed.  But  there  is  no  shrub  nor  weed  which  is  not  known 
to  some  bird.  Though  you  may  have  never  noticed  it,  the 
tree  sparrow  comes  from  the  north  in  the  winter  straight 
to  this  shrub,  and  confidently  shakes  its  panicle,  and  then 
feasts  on  the  fine  shower  of  seeds  that  falls  from  it. 

Jan.  24,  1860.  As  I  stand  at  the  south  end  of  J.  P. 
B.'s  moraine,  I  watch  six  tree  sparrows,  which  come  from 
the  wood  and  alight  and  feed  on  the  ground,  which  is 
there  bare.  They  are  only  two  or  three  rods  from  me, 
and  are  incessantly  picking  and  eating  an  abundance 
of  the  fine  grass  (short-cropped  pasture  grass)  on  that 
knoll,  as  a  hen  or  goose  does.  I  see  the  stubble  an  inch 
or  two  long  in  their  bills,  and  how  they  stuff  it  down. 
Perhaps  they  select  chiefly  the  green  parts.  So  they 
vary  their  fare  and  there  is  no  danger  of  their  starving. 
These  six  hopped  round  for  five  minutes  over  a  space 
a  rod  square  before  I  put  them  to  flight,  and  then  I 
noticed,  in  a  space  only  some  four  feet  square  in  that 
rod,  at  least  eighteen  droppings  (white  at  one  end,  the 
rest  more  slate-colored).  So  wonderfully  active  are  they 
in  their  movements,  both  external  and  internal.  They 
do  not  suffer  for  want  of  a  good  digestion,  surely.  No 
doubt  they  eat  some  earth  or  gravel  too.  So  do  par- 
tridges eat  a  great  deal.  These  birds,  though  they  have 
bright  brown  and  buff  backs,  hop  about  amid  the  little 
inequalities  of  the  pasture  almost  unnoticed,  such  is 
their  color  and  so  humble  are  they. 

\_See  also  under  Vesper  Sparrow,  p.  285:  Song 
Sparrow,  pp.  309,  310 ;  Sparrows,  pp.  323,  324.] 


298     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

CHIPPING   SPARROW;   CHIP-BIRD 

May  1, 1852.  5  A.  M.  —  A  smart  frost  in  the  night, 
the  ploughed  ground  and  platforms  white  with  it.  I  hear 
the  little  forked-tail  chipping  sparrow  (Fringilla  soci- 
alist^ shaking  out  his  rapid  tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi, 
a  little  jingle,  from  the  oak  behind  the  Depot. 

July  21, 1852.  4  A.  M.  —  Robins  sing  as  loud  as  in 
spring,  and  the  chip-bird  breathes  in  the  dawn. 

July  25, 1852.  4  A.  M. — This  early  twitter  or  breath- 
ing of  chip-birds  in  the  dawn  sounds  like  something  or- 
ganic in  the  earth.  This  is  a  morning  celebrated  by  birds. 
Our  bluebird  sits  on  the  peak  of  the  house,  and  warbles 
as  in  the  spring,  but  as  he  does  not  now  by  day. 

March  22,  1853.  As  soon  as  those  spring  mornings 
arrive  in  which  the  birds  sing,  I  am  sure  to  be  an  early 
riser.  I  am  waked  by  my  genius.  I  wake  to  inaudible 
melodies  and  am  surprised  to  find  myself  expecting  the 
dawn  in  so  serene  and  joyful  and  expectant  a  mood.  I 
have  an  appointment  with  spring.  She  comes  to  the 
window  to  wake  me,  and  I  go  forth  an  hour  or  two 
earlier  than  usrfal.  It  is  by  especial  favor  that  I  am 
waked,  —  not  rudely  but  gently,  as  infants  should  be 
waked.  Though  as  yet  the  trill  of  the  chip-bird  is  not 
heard,  —  added,  — like  the  sparkling  bead  which  bursts 
on  bottled  cider  or  ale. 

April  9, 1853.  The  chipping  sparrow,  with  its  ashy- 
white  breast  and  white  streak  over  eye  and  undivided 
chestnut  crown,  holds  up  its  head  and  pours  forth  its 
che  che  che  che  che  che. 

^  [Now  known  as  Spizella  passerina.l 


CHIPPING   SPARROW  299 

June  2,1S5S.  3.30  A.M.— When  I  awake  I  hear  the 
low  universal  chirping  or  twittering  of  the  chip-birds, 
like  the  bursting  bead  on  the  surface  of  the  uncorked 
day.  First  come,  first  served !  You  must  taste  the  first 
glass  of  the  day's  nectar,  if  you  would  get  all  the  spirit 
of  it.  Its  fixed  air  begins  to  stir  and  escape.  Also  the 
robin's  morning  song  is  heard  as  in  the  spring,  earlier 
than  the  notes  of  most  other  birds,  thus  bringing  back 
the  spring ;  now  rarely  heard  or  noticed  in  the  course 
of  the  day. 

April  17, 1860.  I  hear  this  forenoon  the  soothing  and 
simple,  though  monotonous,  notes  of  the  chip-bird,  tell- 
ing us  better  than  our  thermometers  what  degree  of 
summer  warmth  is  reached ;  adds  its  humble  but  very 
pleasant  contribution  to  the  steadily  increasing  quire 
of  the  spring.  It  perches  on  a  cherry  tree,  perchance, 
near  the  house,  and  unseen,  by  its  steady  che-che-che- 
che-che-che,  affecting  us  often  without  our  distinctly 
hearing  it,  it  blends  all  the  other  and  previous  sounds 
of  the  season  together.  It  invites  us  to  walk  in  the  yard 
and  inspect  the  springing  plants. 

[/See  also  under  Vesper  Sparrow,  p.  286  ;  Sparrows, 
p.  318  ;  Yellow  Warbler,  p.  349.] 

FIELD  SPARROW ;  RUSH  SPARROW ;  HUCKLEBERRY-BIRD 

July  16,  1851.  The  rush  sparrow  jingles  her  small 
change,  pure  silver,  on  the  counter  of  the  pasture. 

April  27,  1852.  Heard  the  field  or  rush  sparrow 
this  morning  (^Fringilla  juncorum),^  George  Minott's 

1  [Rush  sparrow  and  Fringilla  juncoriim  are  Nuttall's  names,  which 
he  got  from  earlier  authors.    They  seem  singularly  inappropriate  for  a 


300     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

"  huckleberry-bird."  It  sits  on  a  birch  and  sings  at  short 
intervals,  apparently  answered  from  a  distance.  It  is 
clear  and  sonorous  heard  afar;  but  I  found  it  quite  im- 
possible to  tell  from  which  side  it  came;  sounding  like 
phe^phe^phe,pher-j)her-tw-tw-tw-t-t-t-t,  —  the  first  three 
slow  and  loud,  the  next  two  syllables  quicker,  and  the 
last  part  quicker  and  quicker,  becoming  a  clear,  sono- 
rous trill  or  rattle,  like  a  spoon  in  a  saucer. 

Ajyril  30,  1852.  Half  an  hour  before  sunset.  The 
robins  sing  powerfully  on  the  elms  ;  the  little  frogs  peep  ; 
the  woodpecker's  harsh  and  long-continued  cry  is  heard 
from  the  woods  ;  the  huckleberry-bird's  simple,  sono- 
rous trill. 

May  1,  1852.  The  tinkle  of  the  huckleberry-bird 
comes  up  from  the  shrub  oak  plain.  He  commonly  lives 
away  from  the  habitations  of  men,  in  retired  bushy  fields 
and  sprout-lands. 

Ajyril  13,  1854.  On  the  hill  near  Moore's  hear  the 
F.  juncorum,  — phe-pKe-jihe-phe-pKe^ pherjihe-e-e-e-e- 
e-e-e.  How  sweet  it  sounds  in  a  clear  warm  morning 
in  a  wood-side  pasture  amid  the  old  corn-hills,  or  in 
sprout-lands,  a  [sic]  clear  and  distinct,  "  like  a  spoon  in 
a  cup,"  the  last  part  very  fast  and  ringing. 

Ju7ie  24,  1857.  Returning,  heard  a  fine,  clear  note 
from  a  bird  on  a  white  birch  near  me,  —  whit  whit,  whit 
whit,  whit  whit,  (very  fast)  ter  phe  phe  phe,  —  sound- 
ing perfectly  novel.  Looking  round,  I  saw  it  was  the 
huckleberry-bird,  for  it  was  near  and  plain  to  be  seen. 

Api'il  22,  1859.  When  setting  the  pines  at  Walden 

bird  of  the  upland  pastures.  The  scientific  name  now  in  use  for  the  field 
sparrow  is  Spizella  pusilla.^ 


FIELD   SPARROW  301 

the  last  three  days,  I  was  sung  to  by  the  field  sparrow. 
For  music  I  heard  their  jingle  from  time  to  time. 
That  the  music  the  pines  were  set  to,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  they  will  build  many  a  nest  under  their  shelter. 
It  would  seem  as  if  such  a  field  as  this  —  a  dry  open  or 
half-open  pasture  in  the  woods,  with  small  jjines  scat- 
tered in  it  —  was  well-nigh,  if  not  quite,  abandoned  to 
this  one  alone  among  the  sparrows.  The  surface  of  the 
earth  is  portioned  out  among  them.  By  a  beautiful  law 
of  distribution,  one  creature  does  not  too  much  interfere 
with  another.  I  do  not  hear  the  song  sparrow  here.  As 
the  pines  gradually  increase,  and  a  wood-lot  is  formed, 
these  birds  will  withdraw  to  new  pastures,  and  the 
thrushes,  etc.,  will  take  their  place.  Yes,  as  the  walls 
of  cities  are  fabled  to  have  been  built  by  music,  so  my 
pines  were  established  by  the  song  of  the  field  sparrow. 
They  commonly  place  their  nests  here  under  the  shelter 
of  a  little  pine  in  the  field. 

[^ee  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  403.] 

SLATE-COLORED   JUNCO  ;    SLATE-COLORED  SNOWBIRD ; 
FRINGILLA    HYEMALIS     [ JUNCO    HYEMALIS] 

April  14,  1852.  The  slate-colored  snowbird's  (for 
they  are  still  about)  is  a  somewhat  shrill  jingle,  like  the 
sound  of  ramrods  when  the  order  has  been  given  to  a 
regiment  to  "  return  ramrods  "  and  they  obey  strag- 
glingly. 

3farch  25,  1853.  The  Fringilla  hyemalis  sing  most 
in  concert  of  any  bird  nowadays  that  I  hear.  Sitting 
near  together  on  an  oak  or  pine  in  the  woods  or  an  elm 
in  the  village,  they  keep  up  a  very  pleasant,  enlivening, 


302     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

and  incessant  jingling  and  twittering  chill-lill-Ull,  so 
that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  a  single  bird's  note,  — 
parts  of  it  much  like  a  canary.  This  sound  advances  me 
furthest  toward  summer,  unless  it  be  the  note  of  the 
lark,  who,  by  the  way,  is  the  most  steady  singer  at  pre- 
sent. Notwithstanding  the  raw  and  windy  mornings,  it 
will  sit  on  a  low  twig  or  tussock  or  pile  of  manure  in  the 
meadow  and  sing  for  hours,  as  sweetly  and  plaintively 
as  in  summer. 

March  28,  1853.  The  woods  ring  with  the  cheerful 
jingle  of  the  F.  hyemalis.  This  is  a  very  trig  and  com- 
pact little  bird,  and  appears  to  be  in  good  condition. 
The  straight  edge  of  slate  on  their  breasts  contrasts  re- 
markably with  the  white  from  beneath ;  the  short,  light- 
colored  bill  is  also  very  conspicuous  amid  the  dark  slate ; 
and  when  they  fly  from  you,  the  two  white  feathers  in 
their  tails  are  very  distinct  at  a  good  distance.  They  are 
very  lively,  pursuing  each  other  from  bush  to  bush. 

Dec.  1,  1856.  Slate-colored  snowbirds  flit  before  me 
in  the  path,  feeding  on  the  seeds  on  the  snow,  the  count- 
less little  brown  seeds  that  begin  to  be  scattered  over 
the  snow,  so  much  the  more  obvious  to  bird  and  beast. 
A  hundred  kinds  of  indigenous  grain  are  harvested  now, 
broadcast  upon  the  surface  of  the  snow.  Thus  at  a  crit- 
ical season  these  seeds  are  shaken  down  on  to  a  clean 
white  napkin,  unmixed  with  dirt  and  rubbish,  and  ofP 
this  the  little  pensioners  pick  them.  Their  clean  table  is 
thus  spread  a  few  inches  or  feet  above  the  ground.  Will 
wonder  become  extinct  in  me  ?  Shall  I  become  insen- 
sible as  a  fungus  ? 

Oct.  26, 1857.  At  the  hewing-place  on  the  flat  above, 


SLATE-COLORED  SNOWBIRD;  JUNCO    303 

many  sparrows  are  flitting  past  amid  the  birches  and 
sallows.  They  are  chiefly  Fringilla  hyemalis.  How 
often  they  may  be  seen  thus  flitting  along  in  a  strag- 
gling manner  from  bush  to  bush,  so  that  the  hedgerow 
will  be  all  alive  with  them,  each  uttering  a  faint  cJiip 
from  time  to  time,  as  if  to  keep  together,  bewildering 
you  so  that  you  know  not  if  the  greater  part  are  gone 
by  or  still  to  come !  One  rests  but  a  moment  on  the 
tree  before  you  and  is  gone  again.  You  wonder  if  they 
know  whither  they  are  bound,  and  how  their  leader  is 
appointed. 

Those  sparrows,  too,  are  thoughts  I  have.  They  come 
and  go;  they  flit  by  quickly  on  their  migrations,  utter- 
ing only  a  faint  chip,  I  know  not  whither  or  why  ex- 
actly. One  will  not  rest  upon  its  twig  for  me  to  scruti- 
nize it.  The  whole  copse  will  be  alive  with  my  rambling 
thoughts,  bewildering  me  by  their  very  multitude,  but 
they  will  be  all  gone  directly  without  leaving  me  a 
feather.  My  loftiest  thought  is  somewhat  like  an  eagle 
that  suddenly  comes  into  the  field  of  view,  suggesting 
great  things  and  thrilling  the  beholder,  as  if  it  were 
bound  hitherward  with  a  message  for  me ;  but  it  comes  no 
nearer,  but  circles  and  soars  away,  growing  dimmer,  dis- 
appointing me,  till  it  is  lost  behind  a  cliff  or  a  cloud. 

May  20,  1858.  The  note  of  the  F.  hyemalis, ov  chill- 
lill,  is  a  jingle,  with  also  a  shorter  and  drier  crachling 
or  shuffling  chip  as  it  flits  by. 

June  2, 1858.  Some  forty  or  fifty  rods  below  the  very 
apex  southeast,  or  quite  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,'  I 
^  [Mt.  Monadnock.] 


304     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

saw  a  little  bird  flit  out  from  beneath  a  rock  close  by 
the  path  on  the  left  of  it,  where  there  were  only  very 
few  scattered  dwarf  black  sprace*  about,  and,  looking, 
I  found  a  nest  with  three  eggs.  It  was  the  Fringilla 
hyemalis^  which  soon  disappeared  around  a  projecting 
rock.  It  was  near  by  a  conspicuous  spruce,  six  or  eight 
feet  high,  on  the  west  edge  of  a  sort  of  hollow,  where  a 
vista  opened  south  over  the  precipice,  and  the  path  as- 
cended at  once  more  steeply.  The  nest  was  sunk  in  the 
ground  by  the  side  of  a  tuft  of  grass,  and  was  pretty 
deep,  made  of  much  fine  dry  grass  or  sedge  (?)  and 
lined  with  a  little  of  a  delicate  bluish  hair-like  fibre  (?) 
two  or  three  inches  long.  The  eggs  were  three,  of  a  reg- 
ular oval  form,  faint  bluish-white,  sprinkled  with  fine 
pale-brown  dots,  in  two  of  the  three  condensed  into  a 
ring  about  the  larger  end.  They  had  apparently  just 
begun  to  develop.  The  nest  and  tuft  were  covered  by  a 
projecting  rock.  Brewer  says  that  only  one  nest  is  known 
to  naturalists.^  We  saw  many  of  these  birds  flitting 
about  the  summit,  perched  on  the  rocks  and  the  dwarf 
spruce,  and  disappearing  behind  the  rocks.  It  is  the 
prevailing  bird  now  up  there,  i.  e.  on  the  summit.  They 
are  commonly  said  to  go  to  the  fur  countries  to  breed, 
though  Wilson  says  that  some  breed  in  the  Alleghanies. 
The  New  York  Reports  make  them  breed  on  the  moun- 
tains of  Oswego  County  and  the  Catskills.^  This  was 
a  quite  interesting  discovery.  They  probably  are  never 

^  [The  red  spruce  of  the  uplands  of  northern  New  England  was  not 
generally  distinguished  from  the  black  in  Thoreau's  day.] 

2  ["  Synopsis  of  the  Birds  of  North  America,"  appended  to  the  1840 
Boston  edition  of  Wilson's  American  Ornithology  (p.  703). J 

^  Prevail  in  Nova  Scotia  according  to  Bryant  and  Cabot. 


SONG  SPARROW  305 

seen  in  the  surrounding  low  grounds  at  this  season.  The 
ancestors  of  this  bird  had  evidently  perceived  on  their 
flight  northward  that  here  was  a  small  piece  of  arctic 
region,  containing  all  the  conditions  they  require,  — 
coolness  and  suitable  food,  etc.,  etc.,  —  and  so  for  how 
long  have  builded  here.  For  ages  they  have  made  their 
home  here  with  the  Arenaria  Groenlandica  and  PoUn- 
tilla  tridentata.  They  discerned  arctic  isles  sprinkled  in 
our  southern  sky.  I  did  not  see  any  of  them  below  the 
rocky  and  generally  bare  portion  of  the  mountain.  It 
finds  here  the  same  conditions  as  in  the  north  of  Maine 
and  in  the  fur  countries,  —  Labrador  mosses,  etc.  Now 
that  the  season  is  advanced,  migrating  birds  have  gone 
to  the  extreme  north  or  gone  to  the  mountain-tops.  By 
its  color  it  harmonized  with  the  gray  and  brownish-gray 
rocks.  We  felt  that  we  were  so  much  nearer  to  peren- 
nial spring  and  winter. 

[/See  also  under  Sparrows,  etc.,  p.  323  ;  General  and 
Miscellaneous,  pp.  418,  428.] 

SONG   SPARROW 

1837-47.^  The  song  sparrow,  whose  voice  is  one  of 
the  first  heard  in  the  spring,  sings  occasionally  through- 
out the  season,  —  from  a  greater  depth  in  the  summer, 
as  it  were  behind  the  notes  of  other  birds. 

July  16,  1851.  The  song  sparrow,  the  most  familiar 
and  New  England  bird,  is  heard  in  fields  and  pastures, 
setting  this  midsummer  day  to  music,  as  if  it  were  the 
music  of  a  mossy  rail  or  fence  post ;  a  little  stream  of 
song,  cooling,  rippling  through  the  noon,  —  the  usually 
1  [Undated  paragraph  in  Journal  transcript  covering  this  period.] 


306    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

unseen  songster  usually  unheard  like  the  cricket,  it  is  so 
common,  —  like  the  poet's  song,  unheard  by  most  men, 
whose  ears  are  stopped  with  business,  though  perchance 
it  sans:  on  the  fence  before  the  farmer's  house  this  morn- 
ing  for  an  hour.  There  are  little  strains  of  poetry  in  our 
animals. 

March  18,  1852.  This  snow  has  not  driven  back  the 
birds.  I  hear  the  song  sparrow's  simple  strain,  most 
genuine  herald  of  the  spring,  and  see  flocks  of  chubby 
northern  birds  with  the  habit  of  snowbirds,  passing  north. 

April  1,  1852.  As  I  come  over  the  Turnpike,  the 
song  spai'row's  jingle  comes  up  from  every  part  of  the 
meadow,  as  native  as  the  tinkling  rills  or  the  blossoms 
of  the  spirea,  the  meadow-sweet,  soon  to  spring.  Its 
cheep  is  like  the  sound  of  opening  buds.  The  sparrow  is 
continually  singing  on  the  alders  along  the  brook-side, 
while  the  sun  is  continually  setting. 

April  1,  1853.  The  three  spots  on  breast  of  the  song 
sparrow  seem  to  mark  a  difference  of  sex.^  At  least,  the 
three-spotted  is  the  one  loftenest  hear  sing  of  late.  The 
accompanying  one  is  lighter  beneath  and  one-spotted. 
One  of  the  former  by  J.  P.  Brown's  meadow-side,  select- 
ing the  top  of  a  bush,  after  lurking  and  feeding  under 
the  alders,  sang  olit  olit  olit\  (faster)  chip  chip  chip 
che  char\  (fast)  che  wiss  wiss  loiss.  The  last  bar  was 
much  varied,  and  sometimes  one  olit  omitted  in  the  first. 
This,  I  have  no  doubt,  is  my  bird  of  March  18th.  An- 
other three-spotted  sang  vlt  chit  chit  char\  weeter  char  \ 
tee  chu. 

^  [No  sexual  difference  is  recognized  in  the  song  sparrow's  mark- 
ings.] 


SONG  SPARROW  307 

Aijril  2,  1853.  The  song  sparrows,  the  three-spotted, 
away  by  the  meadow-sides,  are  very  shy  and  cunning : 
instead  of  flying  will  frequently  trot  along  the  ground 
under  the  bushes,  or  dodge  through  a  wall  like  a  swal- 
low; and  I  have  observed  that  they  generally  bring 
some  object,  as  a  rail  or  branch,  between  themselves  and 
the  face  of  the  walker,  —  often  with  outstretched  necks 
will  peep  at  him  anxiously  for  five  or  ten  minutes. 

May  11,  1853.  I  nearly  stepped  upon  a  song  sparrow 
and  a  striped  snake  at  the  same  time.  The  bird  fluttered 
away  almost  as  if  detained.  I  thought  it  was  a  case  of 
charming,  without  doubt,  and  should  think  so  still  if  I 
had  not  found  her  nest  with  five  eggs  there,  which  will 
account  for  her  being  so  near  the  snake  that  was  about 
to  devour  her. 

Oct.  30,  1853.  By  the  bathing-place,  I  see  a  song 
sparrow.  .  .  .  He  drops  stealthily  behind  the  wall  and 
skulks  amid  the  bushes  ;  now  sits  behind  a  post,  and 
peeps  round  at  me,  ever  restless  and  quirking  his  tail, 
and  now  and  then  uttering  a  faint  cTiij). 

March  11,  1854.  Song  sparrows  toward  the  water, 
with  at  least  two  kinds  or  variations  of  their  strain  hard 

quick 

to  imitate.  Ozit^  ozit,  ozif.,  psa  te  te  te  te  te  ter  twe  ter 
is  one ;  the  other  began  chip  chip  che  we,  etc.,  etc. 

March  16,  1854.  A.  M.  —  Another  fine  morning. 

Willows  and  alders  along  watercourses  all  alive  these 
mornings  and  ringing  with  the  trills  and  jingles  and 
warbles  of  birds,  even  as  the  waters  have  lately  broken 
loose  and  tinkle  below,  —  song  sparrows,  blackbirds,  not 
to  mention  robins,  etc.,  etc.  The  song  sparrows  arc  very 


308     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

abundant,  peopling  each  bush,  willow,  or  alder  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  and  pursuing  each  other  as  if  now 
selecting  their  mates.  It  is  their  song  which  especially 
fills  the  air,  made  an  incessant  and  undistinguishable 
trill  and  jingle  by  their  numbers. 

March  20,  1855.  A  flurry  of  snow  at  7  a.  m.  I  go  to 
turn  my  boat  up.  Four  or  five  song  sparrows  are  flitting 
along  amid  the  willows  by  the  waterside.  Probably  they 
came  yesterday  with  the  bluebirds.  From  distant  trees 
and  bushes  I  hear  a  faint  tinkling  te  te  te  te  te  and  at 
last  a  full  strain  whose  rhythm  is  tohit  whit  whit,  ter 
tche,  tchear  tche,  deliberately  sung,  or  measuredly,  while 
the  falling  snow  is  beginning  to  whiten  the  ground,  — 
not  discouraged  by  such  a  reception. 

3farch  21,  1855.  The  song  sparrow  is  now  seen 
dodging  behind  the  wall,  with  a  quirk  of  its  tail,  or  flit- 
ting along  the  alders  or  other  bushes  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  especially  in  low  ground,  and  its  pleasant  strain  is 
heard  at  intervals  in  spite  of  the  cold  and  blustering 
wind.  It  is  the  most  steady  and  resolute  singer  as  yet, 
its  strain  being  heard  at  intervals  throughout  the  day, 
more  than  any  as  yet  peopling  the  hedgerows. 

March  22, 1855.  I  hear  a  song  sparrow  on  an  alder- 
top  sing  ozit  ozit  oze-e-e  \  (quick)  tchip  tchip  tchip  tchip 
tchay  I  te  tchip  ter  che  ter  tchay ;  also  the  same  short- 
ened and  very  much  varied.  Heard  one  sing  uninter- 
ruptedly, i.  e.  without  a  pause,  almost  a  minute. 

April  22, 1855.  See  a  song  sparrow  getting  its  break- 
fast in  the  water  on  the  meadow  like  a  wader. 

April  6,  1856.  Apparently  song  sparrows  may  have 
the  dark  splash  on  each  side  of   the  throat  but   be 


SONG  SPAKROW  309 

more  or  less  brown  on  the  breast  and  head.  Some  are 
quite  light,  some  quite  dark.  Here  is  one  of  the  light- 
breasted  on  the  top  of  an  apple  tree,  sings  uuweariedly 
at  regular  intervals  something  like  tclmlp  \  chilt  chilt, 
chilt  chilt^  (faster  and  faster)  chilt  chilt^  chilt  chilt  \ 
tuller  tchay  ter  splay -ee.  The  last,  or  third,  bar  I  am  not 
sure  about.  It  flew  too  soon  for  me.  I  only  remember 
that  the  last  part  was  sprinkled  on  the  air  like  drops 
from  a  rill,  as  if  its  strain  were  moulded  by  the  spray 
it  sat  upon. 

June  22, 1856.  Ricketson  says  that  they  say  at  New 
Bedford  that  the  song  sparrow  says.  Maids,  maids, 
maids,  —  hang  on  your  tea-kettle-ettle-ettle-ettle-ettle. 

Jan.  21, 1857.  Minott  tells  me  that  Sam  Barrgtt  told 
him  once  when  he  went  to  mill  that  a  song  sparrow  took 
up  its  quarters  in  his  grist-mill  and  stayed  there  all 
winter.  When  it  did  not  help  itself  he  used  to  feed  it 
with  meal,  for  he  was  glad  of  its  company ;  so,  what  with 
the  dashing  water  and  the  crumbs  of  meal,  it  must  have 
fared  well. 

Jan.  28,  1857.  Am  again  surprised  to  see  a  song 
sparrow  sitting  for  hours  on  our  wood-pile  in  the  yard, 
in  the  midst  of.  snow  in  the  yard.  It  is  unwilling  to 
move.  People  go  to  the  pump,  and  the  cat  and  dog  walk 
round  the  wood-pile  without  starting  it.  I  examine  it 
at  my  leisure  through  a  glass.  Remarkable  that  the 
coldest  of  all  winters  these  summer  birds  should  remain. 
Perhaps  it  is  no  more  comfortable  this  season  further 
south,  where  they  are  accustomed  to  abide.  In  the  after- 
noon this  sparrow  joined  a  flock  of  tree  sparrows  on 
the  bare  ground  west  of  the  house.   It  was  amusing  to 


310     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

see  the  tree  sparrows  wash  themselves,  standing  in  the 
puddles  and  tossing  the  water  over  themselves.  Minott 
says  they  wade  in  to  where  it  is  an  inch  deep  and  then 
"  splutter  splutter,"  throwing  the  water  over  them. 
They  have  had  no  opportunity  to  wash  for  a  month,  per- 
haps, there  having  been  no  thaw.  The  song  sparrow  did 
not  go  off  with  them. 

Feb.  2, 1858.  Still  rains,  after  a  rainy  night  with  a 
little  snow,  forming  slosh.  As  I  return  from  the  post- 
office,  I  hear  the  hoarse,  robin-like  chirp  of  a  song  spar- 
row on  Cheney's  ground,  and  see  him  perched  on  the 
topmost  twig  of  a  heap  of  brush,  looking  forlorn  and 
drabbled  and  solitary  in  the  rain. 

March  18,  1858.   7  A.M.  —  By  river. 

Almost  every  bush  has  its  song  sparrow  this  morning, 
and  their  tinkling  strains  are  heard  on  all  sides.  You 
see  them  just  hopping  under  the  bush  or  into  some 
other  covert,  as  you  go  by,  turning  with  a  jerk  this  way 
and  that,  or  they  flit  away  just  above  the  ground,  which 
they  resemble.  It  is  the  prettiest  strain  I  have  heard  yet. 

June  13,  1858.  I  see  a  song  sparrow's  nest  here  in  a 
little  spruce  just  by  the  mouth  of  the  ditch.*  It  rests  on 
the  thick  branches  fifteen  inches  from  the  ground,  firmly 
made  of  coarse  sedge  without,  lined  with  finer,  and  then 
a  little  hair,  small  within, — a  very  thick,  firm,  and  port- 
able nest,  an  inverted  cone ;  —  four  eggs.  They  build 
them  in  a  peculiar  manner  in  these  sphagnous  swamps, 
elevated  apparently  on  account  of  water  and  of  differ- 
ent materials.  Some  of  the  eggs  have  quite  a  blue 
ground. 

^  [At  Ledum  Swamp,  in  Concord.] 


FOX   SPARROW  311 

March,  3,  1860.  The  first  song  sparrows  are  very 
inconspicuous  and  shy  on  the  brown  earth.  You  hear 
some  weeds  rustle,  or  think  you  see  a  mouse  run  amid 
the  stubble,  and  then  the  sparrow  flits  low  away. 

\^See  also  under  Robin,  p.  387;  Bluebird,  pp.  398, 
399;  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  406,  413,  425, 
426.] 

FOX   SPARROW;    FOX-COLORED   SPARROW 

March  31, 1852.  Methinks  I  would  share  every  crea- 
ture's suffering  for  the  sake  of  its  experience  and  joy. 
The  song  sparrow  and  the  transient  fox-colored  spar- 
row,—  have  they  brought  me  no  message  this  year? 
Do  they  go  to  lead  heroic  lives  in  Rupert's  Land? 
They  are  so  small,  I  think  their  destinies  must  be  large. 
Have  I  heard  what  this  tiny  passenger  has  to  say,  wliile 
it  flits  thus  from  tree  to  tree?  Is  not  the  coming  of  the 
fox-colored  sparrow  something  more  earnest  and  sig- 
nificant than  I  have  dreamed  of  ?  Can  I  forgive  myself 
if  I  let  it  go  to  Rupert's  Land  before  I  have  appre- 
ciated it?  God  did  not  make  this  world  in  jest ;  no,  nor 
in  indifference.  These  migrating  sparrows  all  bear  mes- 
sages that  concern  my  life.  I  do  not  pluck  the  fruits 
in  their  season.  I  love  the  birds  and  beasts  because 
they  are  mythologically  in  earnest.  I  see  that  the  spar- 
row cheeps  and  flits  and  sings  adequately  to  the  great 
design  of  tbe  universe ;  that  man  does  not  communi- 
cate  with  it,  understand  its  language,  because  he  is  not 
at  one  with  nature.  I  reproach  myself  because  I  have 
regarded  with  indifference  the  passage  of  the  birct ;  I 
have  thought  them  no  better  than  I. 


312     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

March  14,  1854.  A  large  company  of  fox-colored 
sparrows  in  Heywood's  maple  swamp  close  by.  I  heard 
their  loud,  sweet,  canary-like  whistle  thirty  or  forty  rods 
off,  sounding  richer  than  anything  yet ;  some  on  the 
bushes  singing,  twee  twee  twa  twa  ter  tweer  tweer  twa, 
—  this  is  the  scheme  of  it  only,  there  being  no  dental 
grit  to  it.  They  were  shy,  flitting  before  me,  and  I  heard 
a  slight  susurrus  where  many  were  busily  scratch- 
ing amid  the  leaves  of  the  swamp,  without  seeing 
them,  and  also  saw  many  indistinctly.  Wilson  never 
heard  but  one  sing,  their  common  note  there  being  a 
cheep. 

March  25, 1858.  P.  M.  —  To  bank  of  Great  Meadows 
by  Peter's. 

Cold  northwest  wind  as  yesterday  and  before.   .  .  . 

Going  across  A.  Clark's  field  behind  Garfield's,  I 
see  many  fox-colored  sparrows  flitting  past  in  a  strag- 
gling manner  into  the  birch  and  pitch  pine  woods  on 
the  left,  and  hear  a  sweet  warble  there  from  time  to 
time.  They  are  busily  scratching  like  hens  amid  the 
dry  leaves  of  that  wood  (not  swampy),  from  time  to 
time  the  rearmost  moving  forward,  one  or  two  at  a  time, 
while  a  few  are  perched  here  and  there  on  the  lower 
branches  of  a  birch  or  other  tree ;  and  I  hear  a  very 
clear  and  sweet  whistling  strain,  commonly  haK-finished, 
from  one  every  two  or  three  minutes.  It  is  too  irregular 
to  be  readily  caught,  but  methinks  begins  like  ar  tche 
tche  tchear,  te  tche  tchear,  etc.,  etc.,  but  is  more  clear 
than  these  words  would  indicate.  The  whole  flock  is 
moving  along  pretty  steadily. 

[/See  also  under  Sparrows,  etc.,  pp.  320,  321.] 


TOWHEE;   CHEWINK  313 

TOWHEE;   CHEWINK;   GROUND-ROBIN 

1850.  Many  a  time  I  have  expected  to  find  a  wood- 
chuck,  or  rabbit,  or  a  gray  squirrel,  when  it  was  the 
ground-robin  rustling  the  leaves. 

1850.  I  noticed  a  singular  instance  of  ventriloquism 
to-day  in  a  male  chewink  singing  on  the  top  of  a  young 
oak.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  the  last  part 
of  his  strain,  the  concluding  jingle,  did  not  proceed 
from  a  different  quarter,  a  woodside  many  rods  off. 
Hip-you^  he-he-he-he.  It  was  long  before  I  was  satis- 
fied that  the  last  part  was  not  the  answer  of  his 
mate  given  in  exact  time.  I  endeavored  to  get  between 
the  two ;  indeed,  I  seemed  to  be  almost  between  them 
already. 

May  1, 1852.  I  hear  the  first  towhee  finch.  He  says 
to-wee,  to-wee,  and  another,  much  farther  oft'  than  I  sup- 
posed when  I  went  in  search  of  him,  says  whip  your 
ch-r-r-r-r-r-r,  with  a  metallic  ring. 

May  23,  1853.  How  different  the  ramrod  jingle  of 
the  chewink  or  any  bird's  note  sounds  now  at  5  p.  M.  in 
the  cooler,  stiller  air,  when  also  the  humming  of  insects 
is  more  distinctly  heard,  and  perchance  some  impurity 
has  begun  to  sink  to  earth  strained  by  the  air !  Or  is 
it,  perchance,  to  be  referred  to  the  cooler,  more  clarified 
and  pensive  state  of  the  mind,  when  dews  have  begun 
to  descend  in  it  and  clarify  it  ?  Chaste  eve  !  A  certain 
lateness  in  the  sound,  pleasing  to  hear,  which  releases 
me  from  the  obligation  to  return  in  any  particular 
season.  I  have  passed  the  Rubicon  of  staying  out.  1 
have  said  to  myself,  that  way  is  not  homeward ;  I  will 


314     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

wander  further  from  what  I  have  called  my  home  — 
to  the  home  which  is  forever  iuviting:  me.  In  such  an 
hour  the  freedom  of  the  woods  is  offered  me,  and  the 
birds  sing  my  dispensation. 

June  9,1855.  Achewink'snest  sunk  in  ground  under 
a  bank  covered  with  ferns,  dead  and  green,  and  huckle- 
berry bushes  ;  composed  of  dry  leaves,  then  grass  stub- 
ble, and  lined  with  a  very  few  slender,  reddish  moss 
stems;  four  eggs,  rather  fresh;  merely  enough  moss 
stems  to  indicate  its  choice. 

May  17,  1858.  I  see  a  chewink  flit  low  across  the 
road  with  its  peculiar  flirting,  undulating  motion. 

Sept.  19,  1858.  Hear  a  chewink's  chewink.  But  how 
ineffectual  is  the  note  of  a  bird  now !  We  hear  it  as  if 
we  heard  it  not,  and  forget  it  immediately.  In  spring 
it  makes  its  due  impression,  and  for  a  long  time  will 
not  have  done  echoing,  as  it  were,  through  our  minds. 
It  is  even  as  if  the  atmosphere  were  in  an  unfavorable 
condition  for  this  kind  of  music.  Every  musician  knows 
how  much  depends  on  this. 

[/S'ee  also  ww^^er  Nighthawk,  p.  209;  Wood  Thrush, 
p.  378 ;  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  404,  414.] 

EOSE-BEEASTED   GEOSBEAK 

June  13,  1853.  What  was  that  rare  and  beautiful 
bird  in  the  dark  woods  under  the  Cliffs,  with  black 
above  and  white  spots  and  bars,  a  large  triangular 
blood-red  spot  on  breast,  and  sides  of  breast  and  be- 
neath white  ?  Note  a  warble  like  the  oriole,  but  softer 
and  sweeter.   It  was  quite  tame.  I  cannot  find  this  bird 


ROSE-BREASTED   GROSBEAK        315 

described,  I  think  it  must  be  a  grosbeak.'  At  first  I 
thought  I  saw  a  chewiuk,  as  it  sat  withiu  a  rod  side- 
ways to  me,  and  I  was  going  to  call  Sophia  to  look  at 
it,  but  then  it  turned  its  breast  full  toward  me  and  I 
saw  the  blood-red  breast,  a  large  triangular  painted 
spot  occupying  the  greater  part  of  the  breast.  It  was 
in  the  cool,  shaded  underwood  by  the  old  path  just 
under  the  Cliff.  It  is  a  memorable  event  to  meet  with 
so  rare  a  bird.  Birds  answer  to  flowers,  both  in  their 
abundance  and  their  rareness.  The  meeting  with  a 
rare  and  beautiful  bird  like  this  is  like  meeting:  with 
some  rare  and  beautiful  flower,  which  you  may  never 
find  again,  perchance,  like  the  great  purple  fringed 
orchis,  at  least.  How  much  it  enhances  the  wildness 
and  the  richness  of  the  forest  to  see  in  it  some  beautiful 
bird  which  you  never  detected  before  ! 

May  24,  1855.  Hear  a  rose-breasted  grosbeak.  At 
first  thought  it  a  tanager,  but  soon  I  perceived  its  more 
clear  and  instrumental  —  should  say  whistle,  if  one 
could  whistle  like  a  flute;  a  noble  singer,  reminding 
me  also  of  a  robin ;  clear,  loud  and  flute-like ;  on  the 
oaks,  hillside  south  of  Great  Fields.  Black  all  above 
except  white  on  wing,  with  a  triangular  red  mark  on 
breast  but,  as  I  saw,  all  white  beneath  this.  Female 
quite  different,  yellowish  olivaceous  above,  more  like  a 
muscicapa.  Song  not  so  sweet  as  clear  and  strong.  Saw 
it  fly  off  and  catch  an  insect  like  a  flycatcher. 

1  Probably  a  rose-breasted  grosbeak.  [Though  the  rose-breasted 
grosbeak  was  formerly  much  less  common  about  houses  than  it  is  now, 
being  chiefly  confined  to  the  woods,  it  is  doubtful  if  it  was  quite  so  rare 
in  Concord  as  Thoreau  thought  at  the  time.] 


316     NOTES   ON    NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

May  21,  1856.  Saw  two  splendid  rose-breasted  gros- 
beaks with  females  in  the  young  wood  in  Emerson's  lot. 
What  strong-colored  fellows,  black,  white,  and  fiery 
rose-red  breasts !  Strong-natured,  too,  with  their  stout 
bills.  A  clear,  sweet  singer,  like  a  tanager  but  hoarse 
somewhat,^  and  not  shy. 

July  15,  1858.  At  the  base  of  the  mountain,^  over 
the  road,  heard  (and  saw),  at  the  same  place  where  I 
heard  him  the  evening  before,  a  splendid  rose-breasted 
grosbeak  singing.  I  had  before  mistaken  him  at  first 
for  a  tanager,  then  for  a  red-eye,  but  was  not  satisfied ; 
but  now,  with  my  glass,  I  distinguished  him  sitting 
quite  still,  high  above  the  road  at  the  entrance  of  the 
mountain-path  in  the  deep  woods,  and  singing  stead- 
ily for  twenty  minutes.  It  was  remarkable  for  sitting 
so  still  and  where  yesterday.  It  was  much  richer  and 
sweeter  and,  I  think,  more  powerful  than  the  note  of 
the  tanager  or  red-eye.  It  had  not  the  hoarseness  of 
the  tanasfer,  and  more  sweetness  and  fullness  than  the 
red-eye.  Wilson  does  not  give  their  breeding-place. 
Nuttall  quotes  Pennant  as  saying  that  some  breed  in 
New  York  but  most  further  north.  They,  too,  appear 
to  breed  about  the  White  Mountains. 

June  2,  1859.  Found  within  three  rods  of  Flint's 
Pond  a  rose-breasted  grosbeak's  nest.  It  was  in  a 
thicket  where  there  was  much  cat-briar,  in  a  high  blue- 
berry bush,  some  five  feet  from  the  ground,  in  the  forks 
of  the  bush,  and  of  very  loose  construction,  being  made 

1  [The  song,  of  course,  is  not  really  hoarse  as  compared  with  the 
tanager's.  See  p.  317.] 

2  [Mt.  Lafayette.] 


INDIGO-BIRD  317 

of  the  (lead  gray  extremities  of  the  cat-briar,  with  its 
tendrils  (and  some  of  this  had  dropped  on  the  ground 
beneath),  and  this  was  lined  merely  with  fine  brown 
stems  of  weeds  like  pinweeds,  without  any  leaves  or 
anything  else,  —  a  slight  nest  on  the  whole.  Saw  the 
birds.  The  male  uttered  a  very  peculiar  sharp  click- 
ing or  squeaking  note  of  alarm  while  I  was  near  the 
nest. 

June,  14,  1859.  The  rose-breasted  grosbeak  is  com- 
mon now  in  the  Flint's  Pond  woods.  It  is  not  at  all 
shy,  and  our  richest  singer,  perhaps,  after  the  wood 
thrush.  The  rhythm  is  very  like  that  of  the  tanager, 
but  the  strain  is  perfectly  clear  and  sweet.  One  sits  on 
the  bare  dead  twig  of  a  chestnut,  high  over  the  road, 
at  Gourgas  Wood,  and  over  my  head,  and  sings  clear 
and  loud  at  regular  intervals, — the  strain  about  ten 
or  fifteen  seconds  long,  rising  and  swelling  to  the  end, 
with  various  modulations.  Another,  singing  in  emula- 
tion, regularly  answers  it,  alternating  with  it,  from  a 
distance,  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  It  sings  thus 
long  at  a  time,  and  I  leave  it  singing  there,  regardless 
of  me. 

July  9,  1860.  See  two  handsome  rose-breasted  gros- 
beaks on  the  Corner  causeway.  One  utters  a  peculiar 
squeaking  or  snapping  note,  and,  both  by  form  of  bill 
and  this  note,  and  color,  reminds  me  of  some  of  those 
foreign  birds  with  great  bills  in  cages. 

INDIGO-BIRD 

June  9,  1857.  In  the  sprout-land  beyond  the  red 
huckleberry,  an  indigo-bird,  which  chij)S  about  me  as 


318    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

if  it  had  a  nest  there.  This  is  a  splendid  and  marked 
bird,  high-colored  as  is  the  tanager,  looking  strange  in 
this  latitude.  Glowing  indigo.  It  flits  from  top  of  one 
bush  to  another,  chirping  as  if  anxious.  Wilson  says 
it  sings,  not  like  most  other  birds  in  the  morning  and 
evening  chiefiy,  but  also  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  In 
this  I  notice  it  is  like  the  tanager,  the  other  fiery-plu- 
maged  bird.  They  seem  to  love  the  heat.  It  probably  had 
its  nest  in  one  of  those  bushes. 

SPARROWS,   ETC.    (MISCELLANEOUS) 

1837-47.  It  is  a  marvel  how  the  birds  contrive  to 
survive  in  this  world.  These  tender  sparrows  that  flit 
from  bush  to  bush  this  evening,  though  it  is  so  late,  do 
not  seem  improvident,  [but  appear]  to  have  found  a 
roost  for  the  night.  They  must  succeed  by  weakness 
and  reliance,  for  they  are  not  bold  and  enterprising, 
as  their  mode  of  life  would  seem  to  require,  but  very 
weak  and  tender  creatures.  I  have  seen  a  little  chip- 
ping sparrow,  come  too  early  in  the  spring,  shivering 
on  an  apple  twig,  drawing  in  its  head  and  striving  to 
warm  it  in  its  muffled  feathers ;  and  it  had  no  voice  to 
intercede  with  nature,  but  peeped  as  helpless  as  an  in- 
fant, and  was  ready  to  yield  up  its  spirit  and  die  with- 
out any  effort.  And  yet  this  was  no  new  spring  in  the 
revolution  of  the  seasons. 

Nov.  9,  1850.  A  rusty  sparrow  or  two  only  remains 
to  people  the  drear  spaces.  It  goes  to  roost  without 
neighbors. 

June  30,  1851.  The  cuckoo  is  faintly  heard  from  a 
neighboring  grove.  Now  that  it  is  beginning  to  be  dark, 


SPARROWS  319 

as  I  am  crossing  a  pasture  I  hear  a  happy,  oricl<et-like, 
shrill  little  lay  from  a  sparrow,  either  in  the  grass  or 
else  on  that  distant  tree,  as  if  it  were  the  vibrations  of 
a  watch-spring;  its  vespers. 

Sept.  28,  1851.  Flocks  of  small  birds — apparently 
sparrows,  bobolinks  (or  some  bird  of  equal  size  with  a 
pencilled  breast  which  makes  a  musical  clucking),  and 
piping  goldfinches — are  flitting  about  like  leaves  and 
hopping  up  on  to  the  bent  grass  stems  in  the  garden, 
letting  themselves  down  to  the  heavy  heads,  either  shak- 
ing or  picking  out  a  seed  or  two,  then  alighting  to  pick 
it  up.  I  am  amused  to  see  them  hop  up  on  to  the  slen- 
der, drooping  grass  stems;  then  slide  down,  or  let  them- 
selves down,  as  it  were  foot  over  foot,  with  great  flut- 
tering, till  they  can  pick  at  the  head  and  release  a  few 
seeds;  then  alight  to  pick  them  up.  They  seem  to  pre- 
fer a  coarse  grass  which  grows  like  a  weed  in  the  gar- 
den between  the  potato-hills,  also  the  amaranth. 

March  20,  1852.  As  to  the  winter  birds,  —  those 
which  came  here  in  the  winter, — I  saw  first  that  rusty 
sparrow-like  bird  flying  in  flocks  with  the  smaller  spar- 
rows early  in  the  winter  and  sliding  down  the  grass 
stems  to  their  seeds,  which  clucked  like  a  hen,  and  F. 
Brown  thought  to  be  the  young  of  the  purple  finch ; 
then  I  saw,  about  Thanksgiving  time  and  later  in  the 
winter,  the  pine  grosbeaks,  large  and  carmine,  a  noble 
bird ;  then,  in  midwinter,  the  snow  bunting,  the  white 
snowbird,  sweeping  low  like  snowflakes  from  field  to 
field  over  the  walls  and  fences.  And  now,  within  a  day 
or  two,  I  have  noticed  the  chubby  slate-colored  snow- 
bird (^Fringilla  hyemalisf),  and  I  drive  the  flocks  be- 


320     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

fore  me  on  the  railroad  causeway  as  I  walk.  It  has  two 
white  feathers  in  its  tail. 

Jan.  20,  1853.  I  see  where  snowbirds^  in  troops  have 
visited  each  withered  chenopodium  that  rises  above  the 
snow  in  the  yard  —  and  some  are  large  and  bushlike  — 
for  its  seeds,  their  well-filled  granary  now.  There  are  a 
few  tracks  reaching  from  weed  to  weed,  where  some  have 
run,  but  under  the  larger  plants  the  snow  is  entirely 
trodden  and  blackened,  proving  that  a  large  flock  has 
been  there  and  flown. 

.  March  31,  1853.  I  afterward  heard  a  fine  concert 
of  little  songsters  along  the  edge  of  the  meadow.  Ap- 
proached and  watched  and  listened  for  more  than  half 
an  hour.  There  were  many  little  sparrows,  difficult  to 
detect,  flitting  and  hopping  along  and  scratching  the 
ground  like  hens,  under  the  alders,  willows,  and  cor- 
nels in  a  wet  leafy  place,  occasionally  alighting  on  a  low 
twig  and  preening  themselves.  They  had  bright-bay 
crowns,  two  rather  indistinct  white  bars  on  wings,  an 
ashy  breast  and  dark  tail.  These  twittered  sweetly, 
some  parts  very  much  like  a  canary  and  many  together, 
making  it  the  fullest  and  sweetest  I  have  heard  yet,  — 
like  a  shopf  ul  of  canaries.  The  blackbirds  may  make 
more  noise.  About  the  size  of  a  song  sparrow.  I  think 
these  are  the  tree  sparrow.  Also,  mixed  with  them,  and 
puzzling  me  to  distinguish  for  a  long  time,  were  many 
of  the  fox-colored  (?)  sparrows  mentioned  above,  with 
a  creamy  cinnamon-tinged  ashy  breast,  cinnamon  shoul- 
derlet,  ashy  about  side  head  and  throat,  a  fox-colored 

*  [Thoreau  used  tlie  term  snowbird  indefinitely,  of  any  small  sparrow- 
like bird,  seen  in  winter.] 


SPARROWS  321 

tail ;  a  size  larger  than  the  others ;  the  spot  on  breast 
very  marked.  Were  evidently  two  birds  intimately 
mixed.  Did  not  Peabody  confound  them  when  he  men- 
tioned the  mark  on  the  breast  of  the  tree  sparrow  ?  ' 
The  rich  strain  of  the  fox-colored  sparrow,  as  I  think 
it  is,  added  much  to  the  quire.  The  latter  solos,  the 
former  in  concert.  I  kept  off  a  hawk  by  my  presence. 
These  were  for  a  long  time  invisible  to  me,  except  when 
they  flitted  past. 

Feh.  13,  1855.  One  of  these  pigweeds  in  the  yard 
lasts  the  snowbirds  all  winter,  and  after  every  new 
storm  they  revisit  it.  How  inexhaustible  their  granary ! 

March  14,  1855.  I  observe  the  tracks  of  sparrows 
leading  to  every  little  sprig  of  blue-curls  amid  the 
other  weeds  which  (its  seemingly  empty  pitchers)  rises 
above  the  snow.  There  seems,  however,  to  be  a  little 
seed  left  in  them.  This,  then,  is  reason  enough  why 
these  withered  stems  still  stand, — that  they  may  raise 
these  sfranaries  above  the  snow  for  the  use  of  the  snow- 
birds. 

Oct.  11,  1856.  The  sprout-land  and  stubble  behind 
the  Cliffs  are  all  alive  with  restless  flocks  of  sparrows 
of  various  species.  I  distinguish  F.  hyemalis,  song 
sparrow,  apparently  F.  juncorum  or  maybe  tree  spar- 
row, ^  and  chip-birds  (?).  They  are  continually  flitting 
past  and  surging  upward,  two  or  more  in  pursuit  of 
each  other,  in  the  air,  where  they  break  like  waves, 
and  pass  along  with  a  faint  cheep.  On  the  least  alarm 
many  will  rise  from  a  juniper  bush  on  to  a  shrub  oak 

1  [Thoreau  afterwards  detected  the  breast  spot  of  the  tree  sparrow.] 

2  Probably  not.    [Too  early  in  the  season.] 


322    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND  BIRDS 

above  it,  and,  when  all  is  quiet,  return  into  the  juniper 
perhaps  for  its  berries.  It  is  often  hard  to  detect  them 
as  they  sit  on  the  young  trees,  now  beginning  to  be  bare, 
for  they  are  very  nearly  the  color  of  the  bark  and  are 
very  cunning  to  hide  behind  the  leaves. 

Oct.  19,  1856.  The  fall,  now  and  for  some  weeks,  is 
the  time  for  flocks  of  sparrows  of  various  kinds  flitting 
from  bush  to  bush  and  tree  to  tree  —  and  both  bushes 
and  trees  are  thinly  leaved  or  bare  —  and  from  one 
seared  meadow  to  another.  They  are  mingled  together, 
and  their  notes,  even,  being  faint,  are,  as  well  as  their 
colors  and  motions,  much  alike.  The  sparrow  youth  are 
on  the  wing.  They  are  still  further  concealed  by  their 
resemblance  in  color  to  the  gray  twigs  and  stems,  which 
are  now  beginning  to  be  bare. 

I  have  often  noticed  the  inquisitiveness  of  birds,  as 
the  other  day  of  a  sparrow,  whose  motions  I  should  not 
have  supposed  to  have  any  reference  to  me,  if  I  had 
not  watched  it  from  first  to  last.  I  stood  on  the  edge  of 
a  pine  and  birch  wood.  It  flitted  from  seven  or  eight 
rods  distant  to  a  pine  within  a  rod  of  me,  where  it 
hopped  about  stealthily  and  chirped  awhile,  then  flew 
as  many  rods  the  other  side  and  hopped  about  there  a 
spell,  then  back  to  the  pine  again,  as  near  me  as  it 
dared,  and  again  to  its  first  position,  very  restless  all 
the  while.  Generally  I  should  have  supposed  that  there 
was  more  than  one  bird,  or  that  it  was  altogether  acci- 
dental,—  that  the  chipping  of  this  sparrow  eight  or 
ten  rods  [away]  had  no  reference  to  me,  —  for  I  could 
see  nothing  peculiar  about  it.  But  when  I  brought  my 


SPARROWS  323 

glass  to  bear  on  it,  I  found  that  it  was  almost  steadily 
eying  me  and  was  all  alive  with  excitement. 

3Iarch  20, 1859.  P.  M.  —  I  see  under  the  east  side  of 
the  house,  amid  the  evergreens,  where  they  were  shel- 
tered from  the  cold  northwest  wind,  quite  a  parcel  of 
sparrows,  chiefly  F.  hyemalis,  two  or  three  tree  sparrows, 
and  one  song  sparrow,  quietly  feeding  together.  I  watch 
them  through  a  window  within  six  or  eight  feut.  They 
evidently  love  to  be  sheltered  from  the  wind,  and  at 
least  are  not  averse  to  each  other's  society.  The  tree 
sparrows  sinf/  a  little.  One  perches  on  a  bush  to  sing, 
while  others  are  feeding  on  the  ground,  but  he  is  very 
restless  on  his  perch,  hopping  about  and  stooping  as  if 
dodging  those  that  fly  over.  He  must  perch  on  some 
bit  of  stubble  or  twig  to  sing.  They  are  evidently  pick- 
ing up  the  seeds  of  weeds  which  lie  on  the  surface  of 
the  ground  invisible  to  our  eyes.  They  suffer  their 
wings  to  hang  rather  loose.  The  F.  hi/nnalis  is  the 
largest  of  the  three.  They  have  remarkably  distinct 
light-colored  bills,  and  when  they  stretch,  show  very 
distinct  clear- white  lateral  tail-feathers.  This  stretching 
seems  to  be  contagious  among  them,  like  yawning  with 
us.  They  have  considerable  brown  on  the  quill-feathers. 
The  tree  sparrows  are  much  brighter  brown  and  white 
than  the  song  sparrow.  The  latter  alone  scratches  once 
or  twice,  and  is  more  inclined  to  hop  or  creep  close  to 
the  ground,  under  the  fallen  weeds.  Perhaps  it  deserves 
most  to  be  called  the  grou7id-hiTd. 

Ajiril  8, 1859.  These  windy  days  the  sparrows  resort 
to  the  pines  and  peach  trees  on  the  east  side  of  our 
house  for  shelter,  and  there  they  sing  all  together,  — 


324     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

tree  sparrows,  fox-colored  sparrows,  and  song  sparrows. 
The  F.  hyemalis  with  them  do  not  sing  so  much  of  late. 
The  first  two  are  most  commonly  heard  together,  the 
fine  canary-like  twitter  of  the  tree  sparrow  appearing 
to  ripen  or  swell  from  time  to  time  into  the  clear,  rich 
whistle  of  the  fox-colored  sparrow,  so  that  most  refer 
both  notes  to  one  bird. 

[/See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  405.] 


XVI 
TANAGERS  AND  SWALLOWS 

SCARLET   TANAGER 

July  8,  1852.  I  hear  many  scarlet  tanagers,  the  first 
I  have  seen  this  season,  which  some  might  mistake 
for  a  red-eye.  A  hoarse,  rough  strain,  comparatively, 
but  more  easily  caught  owing  to  its  simplicity  and 
sameness ;  something  like  heer  chip-er-way-heer  chory 
chay. 

May  20,  1853.  Saw  a  tanager  in  Sleepy  Hollow.  It 
most  takes  the  eye  of  any  bird.  You  here  have  the  red- 
wing reversed,  —  the  deepest  scarlet  of  the  red-wing 
spread  over  the  whole  body,  not  on  the  wing-coverts 
merely,  while  the  wings  are  black.  It  flies  through  the 
green  foliage  as  if  it  would  ignite  the  leaves. 

May  23,  1853.  At  Loring's  Wood  heard  and  saw  a 
tanager.  That  contrast  of  a  refZ  bird  with  the  green 
pines  and  the  blue  sky !  Even  when  I  have  heard  his 
note  and  look  for  him  and  find  the  bloody  fellow,  sitting 
on  a  dead  twig  of  a  pine,  I  am  always  startled.  (They 
seem  to  love  the  darkest  and  thickest  pines.)  That  in- 
credible red,  with  the  green  and  blue,  as  if  these  were 
the  trinity  we  wanted.  Yet  with  his  hoarse  note  he  pays 
for  his  color.  I  am  transported  ;  these  are  not  the  woods 
I  ordinarily  walk  in.  He  sunk  Concord  in  his  thought. 
How  he  enhances  the  wildness  and  wealth  of  the  woods ! 
This  and  the  emperor  moth  make  the  tropical  phenomena 


326     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

of  our  zone.  There  Is  warmth  in  the  pewee's  strain,  but 
this  bird's  colors  and  his  note  tell  of  Brazil. 

May  29,  1853.  At  A.  Hosmer's  hill  on  the  Union 
Turnpike  I  see  the  tanager  hoarsely  warbling  in  the 
shade  ;  the  surprising  red  bird,  a  small  morsel  of  Brazil, 
advanced  picket  of  that  Brazilian  army,  —  parrot-like. 
But  no  more  shall  we  see ;  it  is  only  an  affair  of  out- 
posts. It  appears  as  if  he  loved  to  contrast  himself  with 
the  green  of  the  forest. 

May  23,  1854.  We  soon  get  through  with  Nature. 
She  excites  an  expectation  which  she  cannot  satisfy. 
The  merest  child  which  has  rambled  into  a  copsewood 
dreams  of  a  wilderness  so  wild  and  strange  and  inex- 
haustible as  Nature  can  never  show  him.  The  red-bird 
which  I  saw  on  my  companion's  string  on  election  days  ^ 
I  thought  but  the  outmost  sentinel  of  the  wild,  immor- 
tal camp,  —  of  the  wild  and  dazzling  infantry  of  the 
wilderness,  —  that  the  deeper  woods  abounded  with  red- 
der birds  still ;  but,  now  that  I  have  threaded  all  our 
woods  and  waded  the  swamps,  I  have  never  yet  met  with 
his  compeer,  still  less  his  wilder  kindred.  The  red-bird 
which  is  the  last  of  Nature  is  but  the  first  of  God.  The 

^  ["  Old  election  day  "  in  Massachusetts  came  on  the  last  Wednesday 
in  May.  It  was  the  day  when  the  Legislature  met,  to  organize,  to  count 
the  vote  for  governor  and  liejitenant-governor,  and  to  hear  an  "  election 
sermon  "  in  one  of  the  Boston  churches.  The  actual  voting  for  gov- 
ernor, lieutenant-governor,  and  State  senators  came  on  the  first  Monday 
in  April,  and  the  representatives  to  the  General  Court  were  elected  at 
different  times  in  the  different  towns.  The  last  of  these  May  "  elec- 
tions "  was  held  in  1831,  but  "  old  election  day  "  was  observed  as  a  sort 
of  holiday  for  years  after,  and  it  was  the  custom  to  conduct  shooting- 
matches  on  that  day,  when  birds  of  all  kinds  were  shot  indiscriminately. 
See  p.  358.] 


SCARLET  TANAGER  327 

White  Mountains,  likewise,  were  smooth  molehills  to 
my  expectation.  We  condescend  to  climb  the  crags  of 
earth.  It  is  our  weary  legs  alone  that  praise  them.  That 
forest  on  whose  skirts  the  red-bird  flits  is  not  of  earth. 
I  expected  a  fauna  more  infinite  and  various,  birds  of 
more  dazzling  colors  and  more  celestial  song. 

May  28,  1855.  I  see  a  tanager,  the  most  brilliant 
and  tropical-looking  bird  we  have,  bright-scarlet  with 
black  wings,  the  scarlet  appearing  on  the  rump  again 
between  wing- tips.  He  brings  heat,  or  heat  him,  A  re- 
markable contrast  with  the  green  pines.  At  this  dis- 
tance he  has  the  aspect  and  manners  of  a  parrot,  with 
a  fullness  about  the  head  and  throat  and  beak,  indo- 
lently inspecting  the  limbs  and  twigs  —  leaning  over  to 
it  —  and  sitting  still  a  long  time.  The  female,  too,  is  a 
neat  and  handsome  bird,  with  the  same  indolent  ways, 
but  very  differently  colored  from  the  male ;  all  yellow 
below  with  merely  dusky  wings,  and  a  sort  of  clay(?)- 
color  on  back. 

June  24,  1857.  Looked  over  Farmer's  eggs  and  list 
of  names.  He  has  several  which  I  have  not.  Is  not  his 
"  chicklisee,"  after  all,  the  Maryland  yellow-throat  ? 
The  eggs  were  numbered  with  a  pen,  —  1,  2,  3,  etc.,  — 
and  corresponding  numbers  written  against  the  names 
on  the  cover  of  the  pasteboard  box  in  which  were  the 
eggs.  Among  the  rest  I  read,  "  Fire  never  redder.'''' 
That  must  be  the  tanager.  He  laughed  and  said  that 
this  was  the  way  he  came  to  call  it  by  that  name :  IMany 
years  ago,  one  election-day,  when  he  and  other  boys,  or 
young  men,  were  out  gunning  to  see  how  many  birds 
they  could  kill,  Jonathan  Hildreth,  who  lived  near  by, 


328    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

saw  one  of  these  birds  on  the  top  of  a  tree  before  him  in 
the  woods,  but  he  did  not  see  a  deep  ditch  that  crossed 
his  course  between  him  and  it.  As  he  raised  his  gun,  he 
exclaimed,  "  Fire  never  redder  I  "  and,  taking  a  step  or 
two  forward,  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  bird,  fell  head- 
long into  the  ditch,  and  so  the  name  became  a  byword 
among  his  fellows. 

June  23, 1858.  The  tanager's  nest  of  the  19th  is  four 
and  a  half  to  five  inches  wide  and  an  inch  or  more  deep, 
considerably  open  to  look  through ;  the  outside,  of  many 
very  slender  twigs,  apparently  of  hemlock,  some  um- 
belled  pyrola  with  seed-vessels,  everlasting,  etc. ;  within, 
quite  round  and  regular,  of  very  slender  or  fine  stems, 
apparently  pin  weed  or  the  like,  and  pine-needles ;  hardly 
any  grass  stubble  about  it.  The  ^^^  is  a  regular  oval, 
nine  tenths  of  an  inch  long  by  twenty-seven  fortieths, 
pale-blue,  sprinkled  with  purplish-brown  spots,  thick- 
est on  the  larger  end.  To-day  there  are  three  rather 
fresh  eggs  in  this  nest.  Neither  going  nor  returning 
do  we  see  anything  of  the  tanager,  and  conclude  it 
to  be  deserted,  but  perhaps  she  stays  away  from  it 
long. 

May  24, 1860.  As  I  sit  just  above  the  northwest  end 
of  the  Cliff,  I  see  a  tanager  perched  on  one  of  the  top- 
most twigs  of  a  hickory,  holding  by  the  tender  leafets, 
now  five  inches  long,  and  evidently  come  to  spy  after 
me,  peeping  behind  a  leaf et.  He  is  between  me  and  the 
sun,  and  his  plumage  is  incredibly  brilliant,  all  aglow. 
It  is  our  highest-colored  bird,  —  a  deep  scarlet  (with  a 
yellower  reflection  when  the  sun  strikes  him),  in  the 
midst  of  which  his  pure-black  wings  look  high-colored 


CLIFF  SWALLOW  329 

also.  You  can  hardly  believe  that  a  living  creature  can 
wear  such  colors.  A  hickory,  too,  is  the  fittest  perch 
for  him. 

PURPLE  MARTIN 

June  15,  1852.  The  chuckhng  warble  of  martins 
heard  over  the  meadow,  from  a  village  box. 

[/^ee  also  undet  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  408, 
409.] 

CLIFF   SWALLOW;    REPUBLICAN   SWALLOW 

1850.  Returning,  I  saw  in  Sudbury  twenty-five  nests 
of  the  new  (cliff  ?)  swallow  '  under  the  eaves  of  a  barn. 
They  seemed  particularly  social  and  loquacious  neigh- 
bors, though  their  voices  are  rather  squeaking.  Their 
nests,  built  side  by  side,  looked  somewhat  like  large 
hornets'  nests,  enough  so  to  prove  a  sort  of  connection. 
Their  activity,  sociability,  and  chattiness  make  them 
fit  pensioners  and  neighbors  of  man  —  summer  com- 
panions —  for  the  barn-yard. 

Nov.  9,  1857.  Mr.  Farmer  tells  me  that  one  Sunday 
he  went  to  his  barn,  having  nothing  to  do,  and  thought 
he  would  watch  the  swallows,  republican  swallows.  The 
old  bird  was  feeding  her  young,  and  he  sat  within  fif- 
teen feet,  overlooking  them.  There  were  five  young,  and 
he  was  curious  to  know  how  each  received  its  share ; 

^  [This  bird  was  then  a  comparatively  recent  addition  to  the  avi- 
fauna of  eastern  Massachusetts,  whither  it  had  spread  from  its  early 
home  in  the  West.  The  name  "  republican  "  was  given  to  it  by  Audu- 
bon on  account  of  its  social  nesting  habits.  The  notion  that  its  irruption 
into  the  East  was  coincident  with  the  rise  of  the  Republican  Party,  and 
that  this  gave  it  its  popular  name,  is,  of  course,  a  false  one.] 


330    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND  BIKDS 

and  as  often  as  the  bird  came  with  a  fly,  the  one  at  the 
door  (or  opening)  took  it,  and  then  they  all  hitched 
round  one  notch,  so  that  a  new  one  was  presented  at 
the  door,  who  received  the  next  fly;  and  this  was  the  in- 
variable order,  the  same  one  never  receiving  two  flies 
in  succession.  At  last  the  old  bird  brought  a  very  small 
fly,  and  the  young  one  that  swallowed  it  did  not  desert 
his  ground  but  waited  to  receive  the  next,  but  when 
the  bird  came  with  another,  of  the  usual  size,  she  com- 
menced a  loud  and  long  scolding  at  the  little  one,  till  it 
resigned  its  place,  and  the  next  in  succession  received 
the  fly. 

BARN   SWALLOW 

May  19,  1852.  A  barn  swallow  accompanied  me 
across  the  Depot  Field,  methinks  attracted  by  the  in- 
sects which  I  started,  though  I  saw  them  not,  wheeling 
and  tacking  incessantly  on  all  sides  and  repeatedly 
dashing  within  a  rod  of  me.  It  is  an  agreeable  sight  to 
watch  one.  Nothing  lives  in  the  air  but  is  in  rapid 
motion. 

April  30,  1855.  I  observed  yesterday  that  the  barn 
swallows  confined  themselves  to  one  place,  about  fifteen 
rods  in  diameter,  in  Willow  Bay,  about  the  sharp  rock. 
They  kept  circling  about  and  flying  up  the  stream  (the 
wind  easterly),  about  six  inches  above  the  water,  —  it 
was  cloudy  and  almost  raining,  —  yet  I  could  not  per- 
ceive any  insects  there.  Those  myriads  of  little  fuzzy 
gnats  mentioned  on  the  21st  and  28th  must  afford  an 
abundance  of  food  to  insectivorous  birds.  Many  new 
birds  should  have  arrived  about  the  21st.  There  were 


BARN   SWALLOWS 


TEEE   SWALLOW  331 

plenty  of  myrtle-birds  and  yellow  redpolls'  where  the 
gnats  were.  The  swallows  were  confined  to  this  space 
when  I  passed  up,  and  were  still  there  when  I  returned, 
an  hour  and  a  half  later.  I  saw  them  nowhere  else. 
They  uttered  only  a  slight  twitter  from  time  to  time  and 
when  they  turned  out  for  each  other  on  meeting.  Get- 
ting their  meal  seemed  to  be  made  a  social  affair.  Pray, 
how  long  will  they  continue  to  circle  thus  without  rest- 
ing? 

TREE   SWALLOW;   WHITE-BELLIED   SWALLOW 

June  12, 1852.  Small  white-bellied  (?)  swallows  in  a 
row  (a  dozen)  on  the  telegraph-wire  over  the  water  by 
the  bridge.  This  perch  is  little  enough  departure  from 
unobstructed  air  to  suit  them.  Pluming  themselves.  If 
you  could  furnish  a  perch  aerial  enough,  even  birds  of 
paradise  would  alight.  Swallows  have  forked  tails,  and 
wings  and  tails  are  about  the  same  length.  They  do 
not  alight  on  trees,  methinks,  unless  on  dead  and  bare 
boughs,  but  stretch  a  wire  over  water  and  they  perch 
on  it.  This  is  among  the  phenomena  that  cluster  about 
the  telegraph. 

June  14,  1855.  I  told  C."  to  look  into  an  old  mortise- 
hole  in  Wood's  Bridge  for  a  white- bellied  swallow's 
nest,  as  we  were  paddling  under  •  but  he  laughed,  in- 
credulous. I  insisted,  and  when  he  climbed  up  he  scared 
out  the  bird.  Five  eggs.  "You  see  the  feathers  about, 
do  you  not?"  "Yes,"  said  he. 

1  [Myrtle  warblers  and  yellow  palm  warblers.] 

2  [W.  E,  Channing.] 


332    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND  BIRDS 

BANK   SWALLOW 

May  23,  1854.  Saw  in  Dakin's  land,  near  the  road, 
at  the  bend  of  the  river,  fifty-nine  bank  swallows'  holes 
in  a  small  upright  bank  within  a  space  of  twenty  by 
one  and  a  half  feet  (in  the  middle),  part  above  and 
part  below  the  sand-line.  This  would  give  over  a  hun- 
dred birds  to  this  bank.  They  continually  circling  about 
over  the  meadow  and  river  in  front,  often  in  pairs,  one 
pursuing  the  other,  and  filling  the  air  with  their  twit- 
tering. 

May  7,  1856.  In  the  first  hollow  in  the  bank  this 
side  of  Clamshell,  where  sand  has  been  dug  for  the 
meadow,  are  a  hundred  or  more  bank  swallows  at  2  P.  M. 
(I  suspect  I  have  seen  them  for  some  time)  engaged  in 
prospecting  and  digging  their  holes  and  circling  about. 
It  is  a  snug  place  for  them,  —  though  the  upright 
portion  of  the  bank  is  only  four  or  five  feet  high,  —  a 
semi-circular  recess  facing  the  southeast.  Some  are 
within  scratching  out  the  sand,  —  I  see  it  cast  out  of 
the  holes  behind  them,  —  others  hanging  on  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  holes,  others  on  the  flat  sandy  space  be- 
neath in  front,  and  others  circling  about,  a  dozen  rods 
off  over  the  meadow.  Theirs  is  a  low,  dry,  grating  twit- 
ter, or  rather  rattle,  less  metallic  or  musical  than  the 
vite  vite  and  twittering  notes  of  barn  and  white-bellied 
swallows.  They  are  white-bellied,  dark  winged  and 
tailed,  with  a  crescent  of  white  [s^c]  nearly  around  the 
lower  part  of  the  neck,  and  mouse-colored  heads  and 
backs.  The  upper  and  greater  part  of  this  bank  is  a 
coarse  sliding  gravel,  and  they  build  only  in  the  per- 


BANK  SWALLOW  333 

pendicular  and  sandy  part  (I  sit  and  watch  them  within 
three  or  four  rods)  and  close  to  the  upper  part  of  it. 
While  I  am  looking,  they  all  suddenly  with  one  consent 
take  to  wing,  and  circle  over  the  hillside  and  meadow, 
as  if  they  chose  to  work  at  making  their  holes  a  little 
while  at  a  time  only.  I  find  the  holes  on  an  average 
about  a  foot  deep  only  as  yet,  some  but  a  few  inches. 

May  12,  1856.  I  see,  in  the  road  beyond  Luther 
Hosmer's,  in  different  places,  two  bank  swallows  which 
were  undoubtedly  killed  by  the  four  days'  northeast  rain 
we  have  just  had. 

May  13,  1856.  In  the  swallows'  holes  behind  Den- 
nis's, I  find  two  more  dead  bank  swallows,  and  one  on 
the  sand  beneath,  and  the  feathers  of  two  more  which 
some  creature  has  eaten.  This  makes  at  least  seven  dead 
bank  swallows  in  consequence  of  the  long,  cold  north- 
east rain.  A  male  harrier,  skimming  low,  had  nearly 
reached  this  sandpit  before  he  saw  me  and  wheeled. 
Could  it  have  been  he  that  devoured  the  swallows  ? 

The  swallows  were  10|-f  alar  extent,  4|  inches 
long;  a  wing  4|+  by  1|.  Above  they  were  a  light 
brown  on  their  backs,  wings  blackish,  beneath  white, 
with  a  dark-brown  band  over  the  breast  and  again  white 
throat  and  side  of  neck ;  bill  small  and  black ;  reddish- 
brown  legs,  with  long,  sharp,  slender  claws.  It  chanced 
that  each  one  of  two  I  tried  weighed  between  five  and 
six  sixteenths  of  an  ounce,  or  between  five  and  six  drams 
avoirdupois.  This  seems  to  be  the  average  weight,  or 
say  six  drams  because  they  have  pined  a  little.  A  man 
who  weighs  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  weighs  sixty- 
four  hundred  times  as  much  as  one.  The  wing  of  one 


334    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

contains  about  seven  square  inches,  the  body  about  five, 
or  whole  bird  nineteen.  If  a  man  were  to  be  provided 
with  wings,  etc.,  in  proportion  to  his  weight,  they  would 
measure  about  844  square  feet,  and  one  wing  would 
cover  311  feet,  or  be  about  33  feet  long  by  14  wide. 
This  is  to  say  nothing  of  his  muscles. 

Dec.  4,  1856.  I  notice  that  the  swallow-holes  in  the 
bank  behind  Dennis's,  which  is  partly  washed  away, 
are  flat-elliptical,  three  times  or  more  as  wide  horizon- 
tally as  they  are  deep  vertically,  or  about  three  inches 
by  one. 

Nov.  20,  1857.  Some  bank  swallows'  nests  are  ex- 
posed by  the  caving  of  the  bank  at  Clamshell.  The  very 
smallest  hole  is  about  two  and  a  half  inches  wide  hori- 
zontally, by  barely  one  high.  All  are  much  wider  than 
high  (vertically).  One  nest,  with  an  Qg'g  in  it  still,  is 
completely  exposed.  The  cavity  at  the  end  is  shaped 
like  a  thick  hoe-cake  or  lens,  about  six  inches  wide  and 
two  plus  thick,  vertically.  The  nest  is  a  regular  but 
shallow  one  made  simply  of  stubble,  about  five  inches 
in  diameter,  and  three  quarters  of  an  inch  deep. 

Jan.  24, 1858.  The  inside  of  the  swallow-holes  there 
appears  quite  firm  yet  and  regular,  with  marks  where 
it  was  pecked  or  scratched  by  the  bird,  and  the  top  is 
mottled  or  blotched,  almost  as  if  made  firm  in  spots  by 
the  saliva  of  the  bird.  There  is  a  low  oven-like  expan- 
sion at  the  end,  and  a  good  deal  of  stubble  for  the  nest. 
I  find  in  one  an  empty  black  cherry  stone  and  the  re- 
mains of  a  cricket  or  two.  Probably  a  mouse  left  them 
there. 

June  23,  1858.  Get  an  ^^^  out  of  a  deserted  bank 


SWALLOWS  335 

swallow's  nest,  in  a  bank  only  about  four  feet  high  dug 
in  the  spring  for  a  bank  wall  near  Everett's.  The  nest 
is  flattish  and  lined  abundantly  with  the  small,  some- 
what downy,  naturally  curved  feathers  of  poultry.  Egg 
pure  white,  long,  oval,  twenty-seven  fortieths  by  eighteen 
fortieths  of  an  inch. 

SWALLOWS    (general   AND  MISCELLANEOUS) 

July  16,  1851.  The  twittering  of  swallows  is  in  the 
air,  reminding  me  of  water. 

July  23,  1851.  The  swallow's  twitter  is  the  sound  of 
the  lapsing  waves  of  the  air,  or  when  they  break  and 
burst,  as  his  wings  represent  the  ripple.  He  has  more 
air  in  his  bones  than  other  birds  ;  his  feet  are  defective. 
The  fish  of  the  air.  His  note  is  the  voice  of  the  air.  As 
fishes  may  hear  the  sound  of  waves  lapsing  on  the  sur- 
face and  see  the  outlines  of  the  ripples,  so  we  hear  the 
note  and  see  the  flight  of  swallows. 

Aug.  17,  1851.  The  birds  seem  to  know  that  it  will 
not  rain  just  yet.  The  swallows  skim  low  over  the  pas- 
tures, twittering  as  they  fly  near  me  with  forked  tail, 
dashing  near  me  as  if  I  scared  up  insects  for  them.  I 
see  where  a  squirrel  has  been  eating  hazelnuts  on  a 
stump. 

Aug.  4,  1855.  Just  after  bathing  at  the  rock  near 
the  Island  this  afternoon,  after  sunset,  I  saw  a  flock  of 
thousands  of  barn  swallows  and  some  white-bellied,  and 
perhaps  others,  for  it  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  them. 
They  came  flying  over  the  river  in  loose  array,  wheeled 
and  flew  round  in  a  great  circle  over  the  bay  there, 
about  eighty  feet  high,  with  a  loud  twittering  as  if  seek- 


336     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

ing  a  resting-place,  then  flew  up  the  stream.  I  was  very 
much  surprised  at  their  numbers.  Directly  after,  hear- 
ing a  buzzing  sound,  we  found  them  all  alighted  on  the 
dense  golden  willow  hedge  at  Shattuck's  shore,  parallel 
with  the  shore,  quite  densely  leaved  and  eighteen  feet 
high.  They  were  generally  perched  five  or  six  feet  from 
the  top,  amid  the  thick  leaves,  filling  it  for  eight  or  ten 
rods.  They  were  very  restless,  fluttering  from  one  perch 
to  another  and  about  one  another,  and  kept  up  a  loud 
and  remarkable  buzzing  or  squeaking,  breathing  or 
hum,  with  only  occasionally  a  regular  twitter,  now  and 
then  flitting  alongside  from  one  end  of  the  row  to  the 
other.  It  was  so  dark  we  had  to  draw  close  to  see  them. 
At  intervals  they  were  perfectly  still  for  a  moment,  as 
if  at  a  signal.  At  length,  after  twenty  or  thirty  minutes 
of  bustle  and  hum,  they  all  settled  quietly  to  rest  on 
their  perches,  I  supposed  for  the  night.  We  had  rowed 
up  within  a  rod  of  one  end  of  the  row,  looking  up  so  as 
to  bring  the  birds  between  us  and  the  sky,  but  they 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  us.  What  was  re- 
markable was :  first,  their  numbers  ;  second,  their  perch- 
ing on  densely  leaved  willows ;  third,  their  buzzing  or 
humming,  like  a  hive  of  bees,  even  squeaking  notes ; 
and  fourth,  their  disregarding  our  nearness.  I  supposed 
that  they  were  preparing  to  migrate,  being  the  early 
broods. 

Aug.  5,  1855.  4  A.  M.  —  On  river  to  see  swallows. 

They  are  all  gone  ;  yet  Fay  saw  them  there  last  night 
after  we  passed.  Probably  they  started  very  early.  I 
asked  Minott  if  he  ever  saw  swallows  migrating,  not 
telling  him  what  I  had  seen,  and  he  said  that  he  used 


SWALLOWS  337 

to  get  up  and  go  out  to  mow  very  early  in  the  morning 
on  his  meadow,  as  early  as  he  could  see  to  strike,  ruid 
once,  at  that  hour,  hearing  a  noise,  he  looked  up  and 
could  just  distinguish  high  overhead  fifty  thousand 
swallows.  He  thought  it  was  in  the  latter  part  of 
August. 

April  30,  1856.  About  3.30  p.  m.,  when  it  was  quite 
cloudy  as  well  as  raw,  and  I  was  measuring  along  the 
river  just  south  of  the  bridge,  I  was  surprised  by  the 
great  number  of  swallows  —  white-bellied  and  barn 
swallows  and  perhaps  republican  —  flying  round  and 
round,  or  skimming  very  low  over  the  meadow,  just  laid 
bare,  only  a  foot  above  the  ground.  Either  from  the 
shape  of  the  hollow  or  their  circling,  they  seemed  to 
form  a  circular  flock  three  or  four  rods  in  diameter 
and  one  swallow  deep.  There  were  two  or  three  of  these 
centres  and  some  birds  equally  low  over  the  river.  It 
looked  like  rain,  but  did  not  rain  that  day  or  the  next. 
Probably  their  insect  food  was  flying  at  that  height 
over  the  meadow  at  that  time.  There  were  a  thousand 
or  more  of  swallows,  and  I  think  that  they  had  recently 
arrived  together  on  their  migration.  Only  this  could 
account  for  there  being  so  many  together.  We  were 
measuring  through  one  little  circular  meadow,  and 
many  of  them  were  not  driven  off  by  our  nearness.  Tiie 
noise  of  their  wings  and  their  twittering  was  quite 
loud. 

May  11, 1856.  There  are  many  swallows  circling  low 
over  the  river  behind  Monroe's,  —  bank  swallows,  barn, 
republican,  chimney,  and  white-bellied.  These  are  all 
circling  together  a  foot  or  two  over  the  water,  passing 


338     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

within  ten  or  twelve  feet  of  me  in  my  boat.  It  is  re- 
markable how  social  the  different  species  of  swallow  are 
one  with  another.  They  recognize  their  affinity  more 
than  usual. 

July  29,  1856.  Pratt  says  he  one  day  walked  out 
with  Wesson,  with  their  rifles,  as  far  as  Hunt's  Bridge. 
Looking  down-stream,  he  saw  a  swallow  sitting  on  a 
bush  very  far  off,  at  which  he  took  aim  and  fired  with 
ball.  He  was  surprised  to  see  that  he  had  touched  the 
swallow,  for  it  flew  directly  across  the  river  toward 
Simon  Brown's  barn,  always  descending  toward  the 
earth  or  water,  not  being  able  to  maintain  itself ;  but 
what  surprised  him  most  was  to  see  a  second  swallow 
come  flying  behind  and  repeatedly  strike  the  other  with 
all  his  force  beneath,  so  as  to  toss  him  up'  as  often  as 
he  approached  the  ground  and  enable  him  to  continue 
his  flight,  and  thus  he  continued  to  do  till  they  were  out 
of  sight.  Pratt  said  he  resolved  that  he  would  never  fire 
at  a  swallow  again. 

Aug.  26, 1856.  The  flooded  meadow,  where  the  grass- 
hoppers cling  to  the  grass  so  thickly,  is  alive  with  swal- 
lows skimming  just  over  the  surfaqp  amid  the  grass- 
tops  and  aii-parently  snapping  up  insects  there.  A  re  they 
catching  the  grasshoppers  as  they  cling  to  bare  poles  ? 
(I  see  the  swallows  equally  thick  there  at  5  p.  m.  when 
I  return  also.) 

May  20,  1858.  P.  M.— Up  Assabet. 

A  cloudy  afternoon,  with  a  cool  east  wind,  producing 
a  mist.  Hundreds  of  swallows  are  now  skimming  close 
over  the  river,  at  its  broadest  part,  where  it  is  shallow 
and  runs  the  swiftest,  just  below  the  Island,  for  a  dis- 


SWALLOWS  889 

tance  of  twenty  rods.  There  are  bank,  barn,  cliff,  and 
chimney  swallows,  all  mingled  together  and  continually 
scaling  back  and  forth,  —  a  very  lively  sight.  They  keep 
descending  or  stooping  to  within  a  few  inches  of  the 
water  on  a  curving  wing,  without  quite  touching  it,  and 
I  suppose  are  attracted  by  some  small  insects  which 
hover  close  over  it.  They  also  stoop  low  about  me  as  I 
stand  on  the  flat  island  there,  but  I  do  not  perceive  the 
insects.  They  rarely  rise  more  than  five  feet  above  the 
surface,  and  a  general  twittering  adds  to  the  impres- 
sion of  sociability.  The  principal  note  is  the  low  grat- 
ing sound  of  the  bank  swallow,  and  I  hear  the  vit  vit  of 
the  barn  swallow.  The  cliff  swallow,  then,  is  here.  Are 
the  insects  in  any  measure  confined  to  that  part  of  the 
river?  Or  are  they  congregated  for  the  sake  of  society? 
I  have  also  in  other  years  noticed  them  over  another 
swift  place,  at  Hubbard's  Bath,  and  also,  when  they 
first  come,  in  smaller  numbers,  over  the  still  and  smooth 
water  under  the  lee  of  the  Island  wood.  They  are  thick 
as  the  gnats  which  perhaps  they  catch.  Swallows  are 
more  confident  and  fly  nearer  to  man  than  most  birds. 
It  may  be  because  they  are  more  protected  by  the  senti- 
ment and  superstitions  of  men. 


XVII 
WAXWINGS,   SHRIKES,  AND  VIREOS 

CEDAR  WAXWING  ;    CHERRY-BIRD 

June,  21, 1852.  Cherry-birds.  I  have  not  seen,  though 
I  think  I  have  heard  them  before,  —  their  fine  seringo 
note,  like  a  vibrating  spring  in  the  air.  They  are  a  hand- 
some bird,  with  their  crest  and  chestnut  breasts.  There 
is  no  keeping  the  run  of  their  goings  and  comings,  but 
they  will  be  ready  for  the  cherries  when  they  shall  be 
ripe. 

June  16,  1854.  The  note  of  the  cherry-bird  is  fine 
and  ringing,  but  peculiar  and  very  noticeable.  With  its 
crest  it  is  a  resolute  and  combative-looking  bird. 

June  14,  1855.  A  cherry-bird's  nest  and  two  eggs 
in  an  apple  tree,  fourteen  feet  from  ground.  One  ^^;g^ 
round  black  spots  and  a  few  oblong,  about  equally  but 
thinly  dispersed  over  the  whole,  and  a  dim,  internal, 
purplish  tinge  about  the  large  end.  It  is  difficult  to  see 
anything  of  the  bird,  for  she  steals  away  early,  and 
you  may  neither  see  nor  hear  anything  of  her  while  ex- 
amining the  nest,  and  so  think  it  deserted.  Approach 
very  warily  and  look  out  for  them  a  dozen  or  more 
rods  off. 

March,  1,  1856.  Goodwin  says  that  somewhere  where 
he  lived  thiey  called  cherry-birds  "  port-royals." 

March,  20,  1858.  On  that  same  tree  by  Conant's  or- 
chard, I  see  a  flock  of  cherry-birds  with  that  alert,  chief- 


NORTHERN   SHRIKE  341 

tain-like  look,  and  hear  their  seringo  note,  as  if  made 
by  their  swift  flight  through  the  air.  They  have  been 
seen  a  week  or  two. 

\_See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  429]. 

NORTHERN   SHRIKE 

jpeo.  25,  1839.         the  shrike 

Hark !  hark !  from  out  the  thickest  fog 
Warbles  with  might  and  main 
The  fearless  shrike,  as  all  agog 
To  find  in  fog  his  gain. 

His  steady  sails  he  never  furls 
At  any  time  o'  year. 
And,  perched  now  on  Winter's  curls, 
He  whistles  in  his  ear. 

Dec.  24, 1850.  Saw  a  shrike  pecking  to  pieces  a  small 
bird,  apparently  a  snowbird.  At  length  lie  took  him  up 
in  his  bill,  almost  half  as  big  as  himself,  and  flew  slowly 
off  with  his  prey  dangling  from  his  beak.  I  find  that  I 
had  not  associated  such  actions  with  my  idea  of  birds. 
It  was  not  birdlike. 

Feb.  3, 1856.  Returning,  saw  near  the  Island  a  shrike 
glide  by,  cold  and  blustering  as  it  was,  with  a  remark- 
ably even  and  steady  sail  or  gliding  motion  like  a  hawk, 
eight  or  ten  feet  above  the  ground,  and  alight  in  a  tree, 
from  which  at  the  same  instant  a  small  bird,  perhaps 
a  creeper  or  nuthatch,  flitted  timidly  away.  The  shrike 
was  apparently  in  pursuit. 

Nov.  29,  1858.  I  see  a  living  shrike  caught  to-day  in 
the  barn  of  the  Middlesex  House. 


342    NOTES  ON   NEW  ENGLAND   BIEDS 

Nov.  30,  1858.  The  shrike  was  very  violent  for  a  long 
time,  beating  itself  against  the  bars  of  its  cage  at 
Stacy's.  To-day  it  is  quiet  and  has  eaten  raw  meat.  Its 
plain  dark  ash-colored  crown  and  back  are  separated 
by  a  very  distinct  line  from  the  black  wings.  It  has  a 
powerful  hawk-like  beak,  but  slender  legs  and  claws. 
Close  to,  it  looks  more  like  a  muscicapa^  than  anything. 

March  7,  1859.  6.30  A.  M.  — To  HiU. 

I  come  out  to  hear  a  spring  bird,  the  ground  gener- 
ally covered  with  snow  yet  and  the  channel  of  the  river 
only  partly  open.  On  the  Hill  I  hear  first  the  tapping 
of  a  small  woodpecker.  I  then  see  a  bird  alight  on  the 
dead  top  of  the  highest  white  oak  on  the  hilltop,  on  the 
topmost  point.  It  is  a  shrike.  While  I  am  watching  him 
eight  or  ten  rods  off,  I  hear  robins  down  below,  west  of 
the  hill.  Then,  to  my  surprise,  the  shrike  begins  to  sing. 
It  is  at  first  a  wholly  ineffectual  and  inarticulate  sound 
without  any  solid  tone  to  it,  a  mere  hoarse  breathing, 
as  if  he  were  clearing  his  throat,  unlike  any  bird  that 
I  know,  —  a  shrill  hissing.  Then  he  uttered  a  kind  of 
mew,  a  very  decided  mewing,  clear  and  wiry,  between 
that  of  a  catbird  and  the  note  of  the  nuthatch,  as  if  to 
lure  a  nuthatch  within  his  reach;  then  rose  into  the 
sharpest,  shrillest  vibratory  or  tremulous  whistling  or 
chirruping  on  the  very  highest  key.  This  high  gurgling 
jingle  was  like  some  of  the  notes  of  a  robin  singing  in 
summer.  But  they  were  very  short  spurts  in  all  these 
directions,  though  there  was  all  this  variety.  Unless  you 
saw  the  shrike  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  what  bird  it  was. 
This  variety  of   notes  covered  considerable  time,  but 

^  [That  is,  a  flycatcher.] 


NORTHERN   SHRIKE  ;J43 

were  sparingly  uttered  with  intervals.  It  was  a  decided 
chinking  sound  —  the  clearest  strain  —  suggesting  much 
ice  in  the  stream.  I  heard  this  bird  sing  once  before, 
but  that  was  also  in  early  spring,  or  about  this  time.  It 
is  said  that  they  imitate  the  notes  of  the  birds  in  order 
to  attract  them  within  their  reach.  Why,  then,  have  I 
never  heard  them  sing  in  the  winter?  (I  have  seen 
seven  or  eight  of  them  the  past  winter  quite  near.)  The 
birds  which  it  imitated  — if  it  imitated  any  this  morn- 
ing —  were  the  catbird  and  the  robin,  neither  of  which 
probably  would  it  catch,  —  and  the  first  is  not  here  to 
be  caught.  Hearing  a  peep,  I  looked  up  and  saw  three 
or  four  birds  passing  rather  [sic],  which  suddenly  de- 
scended and  settled  on  this  oak-top.  They  were  robins, 
but  the  shrike  instantly  hid  himself  behind  a  bough  and 
in  half  a  minute  flew  off  to  a  walnut  and  alighted,  as 
usual,  on  its  very  topmost  twig,  apparently  afraid  of  its 
visitors.  The  robins  kept  their  ground,  one  alighting 
on  the  very  point  which  the  shrike  vacated.  Is  not  this, 
then,  probably  the  spring  note  or  pairing  note  or  notes 
of  the  shrike  ? 

Dec.  18,  1859.  I  see  three  shrikes  in  different  places 
to-day,  —  two  on  the  top  of  apple  trees,  sitting  still  in 
the  storm,  on  the  lookout.  They  fly  low  to  another  tree 
when  disturbed,  much  like  a  bluebird,  and  jerk  their 
tails  once  or  twice  when  they  alight. 

Dec.  30,  1859.  Going  by  Dodd's,  I  see  a  shrike 
perched  on  the  tip-top  of  the  topmost  upright  twig  of 
an  English  cherry  tree  before  his  house,  standing  s(juare 
on  the  topmost  bud,  balancing  himself  by  a  slight  mo- 
tion of  his  tail  from  time  to  time.    I  have  noticed  this 


344     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

habit  of  the  bird  before.  You  would  suppose  it  incon- 
venient for  so  large  a  bird  to  maintain  its  footing  there. 
Scared  by  my  passing  [?]  in  the  road,  it  flew  off,  and 
I  thought  I  would  see  if  it  alighted  on  a  similar  place. 
It  flew  toward  a  young  elm,  whose  higher  twigs  were 
much  more  slender,  though  not  quite  so  upright  as 
those  of  the  cherry,  and  I  thought  he  might  be  excused 
if  he  alighted  on  the  side  of  one  ;  but  no,  to  my  surprise, 
he  alighted  without  any  trouble  upon  the  very  top  of 
one  of  the  highest  of  all,  and  looked  around  as  before. 

WARBLING   VIREO 

[/See  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  426.] 

YELLOW-THROATED   VIREO 

May  19, 1856.  Hear  and  see  a  yellow-throated  vireo, 
which  methinks  I  have  heard  before.  Going  and  coming, 
he  is  in  the  top  of  the  same  swamp  white  oak  and  sing- 
ing indolently,  ullia  —  eelya,  and  sometimes  varied  to 
eelyee. 

VIREOS    (unspecified   AND   UNIDENTIFIED) 

May  7,  1852.  The  vireo  comes  with  warm  weather, 
midwife  to  the  leaves  of  the  elms. 

Jan.  13, 1856.  Took  to  pieces  a  pensile  nest  which  I 
found  the  11th  on  the  south  shore  of  Walden  on  an 
oak  sapling  (red  or  black),  about  fifteen  feet  from  the 
ground.  Though  small,  it  measures  three  inches  by  three 
in  the  extreme,  and  was  hung  between  two  horizontal 
twigs  or  in  a  fork  forming  about  a  right  angle,  the  third 
side  being  regularly  rounded  without  any  very  stiff  mate- 


VIREOS  346 

rial.  The  twigs  extended  two  or  three  inches  beyond  the 
nest.  The  bulk  of  it  is  composed  of  fine  shreds  or  fibres, 
pretty  long  (say  three  to  six  inches),  of  apparently 
inner  oak  (?)  bark,  judging  from  some  scraps  of  the 
epidermis  adhering.  It  looks  at  first  sight  like  sedge 
or  grass.  The  bottom,  which  I  accidentally  broke  off 
and  disturbed  the  arrangement  of,  was  composed  of  this 
and  white  and  pitch  pine  needles  and  little  twigs  about 
the  same  size  and  form,  rough  with  little  leaf-stalks 
or  feet  (probably  hemlock  (?)')5  ^^^  ^^so  strips  and 
curls  of  paper  birch  epidermis,  and  some  hornet  or 
other  wasp  nest  used  like  the  last.  I  mention  the  most 
abundant  material  first.  Probably  the  needles  and  twigs 
were  used  on  account  of  theircurvedform  -  and  elasticity, 
to  give  shape  to  the  bottom.  The  sides,  which  were  not 
so  thick,  were  composed  of  bark  shreds,  paper  birch,  and 
hornet-nest  (the  two  latter  chiefly  outside,  probably  to 
bind  and  conceal  and  keep  out  the  wind),  agglutinated 
together.  But  most  pains  was  taken  with  the  thin  edge 
and  for  three  quarters  of  an  inch  down,  where,  beside 
the  bark-fibres,  birch  paper,  and  hornets'  nest,  some 
silky  reddish-brown  and  also  white  fibre  was  used  to 
bind  all  with,  almost  spun  into  threads  and  passed  over 
the  twigs  and  agglutinated  to  them,  or  over  the  bark 
edge.  The  shreds  of  birch  paper  were  smaller  there, 
and  the  hornets'  nest  looked  as  if  it  had  been  reduced 
to  a  pulp  by  the  bird  and  spread  very  thinly  here  and 
there  over  all,  mixed  with  the  brown  silk.  This  last 
looked  like  cow's  hair,  but  as  I  found  a  piece  of  a  small 
brown  cocoon,  though  a  little  paler,  I  suspect  it  was 
^  Yes,  they  are.  ^  Perhaps  bent  by  the  bird. 


346     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

from  that.^  The  white  may  have  been  from  a  cocoon, 
or  else  vegetable  silk.  Probably  a  vireo's  nest,  maybe 
red-eye's. 

In  our  workshops  we  pride  ourselves  on  discovering 
a  use  for  what  had  previously  been  regarded  as  waste, 
but  how  partial  and  accidental  our  economy  compared 
with  Nature's.  In  Nature  nothing  is  wasted.  Every 
decayed  leaf  and  twig  and  fibre  is  only  the  better  fitted 
to  serve  in  some  other  department,  and  all  at  last  are 
gathered  in  her  compost-heap.  What  a  wonderful  gen- 
ius it  is  that  leads  the  vireo  to  select  the  tough  fibres 
of  the  inner  bark,  instead  of  the  more  brittle  grasses, 
for  its  basket,  the  elastic  pine-needles  and  the  twigs, 
curved  as  they  dried  to  give  it  form,  and,  as  I  suppose, 
the  silk  of  cocoons,  etc.,  etc.,  to  bind  it  together  with! 
I  suspect  that  extensive  use  is  made  of  these  abandoned 
cocoons  by  the  birds,  and  they,  if  anybody,  know  where 
to  find  them.  There  were  at  least  seven  materials  used 
in  constructing  this  nest,  and  the  bird  visited  as  many 
distinct  localities  many  times,  always  with  the  purpose 
or  design  to  find  some  particular  one  of  these  materials, 
as  much  as  if  it  had  said  to  itself,  "Now  I  will  go  and 
get  some  old  hornets'  nest  from  one  of  those  that  I  saw 
last  fall  down  in  the  maple  swamp  —  perhaps  thrust 
my  bill  into  them  —  or  some  silk  from  those  cocoons  I 
saw  this  morning." 

^  Some  of  the  same  on  my  red-eye's  nest. 


I 


XVIII 

WARBLERS 

BLACK   AND   WHITE  WARBLER  ;    BLACK  AND  WHITE 
CREEPER 

May  12,  1855.  Watched  a  black  and  white  creeper 
from  Bittern  Cliff,  a  very  neat  and  active  bird,  explor- 
ing the  limbs  on  all  sides  and  looking  three  or  four 
ways  almost  at  once  for  insects.  Now  and  then  it  raises 
its  head  a  little,  opens  its  bill,  and,  without  closing  it, 
utters  its  faint  seeser  seeser  seeser. 

May  30,  1857.  In  the  midst  of  the  shower,  though 
it  was  not  raining  very  hard,  a  black  and  white  creeper 
came  and  inspected  the  limbs  of  a  tree  before  my  rock, 
in  his  usual  zigzag,  prying  way,  head  downward  often, 
and  when  it  thundered  loudest,  heeded  it  not.  Birds  ap- 
pear to  be  but  little  incommoded  by  the  rain.  Yet  they 
do  not  often  sing  in  it. 

May  16,  1860.  Near  Peter's  I  see  a  small  creeper 
hopping  along  the  branches  of  the  oaks  and  pines,  ever 
turning  this  way  and  that  as  it  hops,  making  various  angles 
with  the  bough  ; 
then  flies  across 
to  another  bough,  or  to  the  base  of  another  tree,  and 
traces  that  up,  zigzag  and  prying  into  the  crevices.  Think 
how  thoroughly  the  trees  are  thus  explored  by  various 
birds !  You  can  hardly  sit  near  one  for  five  minutes  now, 
but  either  a  woodpecker  or  creeper  comes  and  examines 


348     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

its  bark  rapidly,  or  a  warbler  —  a  summer  yellowbird,  for 
example  —  makes  a  pretty  thorough  exploration  about 
all  its  expanding  leafets,  even  to  the  topmost  twig.  The 
whole  North  American  forest  is  being  thus  explored  for 
insect  food  now  by  several  hundred  (?)  species  of  birds. 
Each  is  visited  by  many  kinds,  and  thus  the  equilibrium 
of  the  insect  and  vegetable  kingdom  is  preserved.  Per- 
haps I  may  say  that  each  opening  bud  is  thus  visited 
before  it  has  fully  expanded. 

l_See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  414.] 

YELLOW  WARBLER;    SUMMER   YELLOWBIRD 

3fay  7,  1852.  The  first  summer  yellowbirds  on  the 
willow  causeway.  The  birds  I  have  lately  mentioned 
come  not  singly,  as  the  earliest,  but  all  at  once,  i.  e. 
many  yellowbirds  all  over  town.  Now  I  remember  the 
yellowbird  comes  when  the  willows  begin  to  leave  out. 
So  yellow.  They  bring  summer  with  them  and  the  sun, 
tche-tche-tche-tcha  tcha-tchar.  Also  they  haunt  the  oaks, 
white  and  swamp  white,  where  are  not  leaves. 

May  10,  1853.  At  this  season  the  traveller  passes 
through  a  golden  gate  on  causeways  where  these  willows 
are  planted,  as  if  he  were  approaching  the  entrance  to 
Fairyland  ;  and  there  will  surely  be  found  the  yellow- 
bird,  and  already  from  a  distance  is  heard  his  note,  a 
tche  tche  tche  tcha  tchartcha,  —  ah,  willow,  willow.  Could 
not  he  truly  arrange  for  us  the  difficult  family  of  the 
willows  better  than  Borrer,  or  Barratt  of  Middletown  ? 
And  as  he  passes  between  the  portals,  a  sweet  fragrance 
is  wafted  to  him ;  he  not  only  breathes  but  scents  and 
tastes  the  air,  and'he  hears  the  low  humming  or  susurrus 


YELLOW   WARBLER  349 

of  a  myriad  Insects  which  are  feeding  on  its  sweets.  It 
is,  apparently,  these  that  attract  the  yellowbird. 

May  12,  1853.  The  yellowbird  has  another  note, 
tchut  tchut  tcJiar  te  tchit  e  war. 

June  24,  1853.  A  yellowbird's  nest  in  a  fork  of  a 
willow  on  Hubbard's  Causeway,  resting  chiefly  on  the 
leading  branch ;  of  fine  grass,  lined  with  hair,  bottom 
outside  puffing  out  with  a  fine,  light,  flax-like  fibre, 
perhaps  the  bark  of  some  weed,  by  which  also  it  is 
fastened  to  the  twigs.  It  is  surprising  that  so  many 
birds  find  hair  enough  to  line  their  nests  with.  If  I 
wish  for  a  horsehair  for  my  compass  sights  I  must  go 
to  the  stable,  but  the  hair-bird,^  with  her  sharp  eyes, 
goes  to  the  road. 

Jan.  18, 1856.  Analyzed  a  nest  which  I  found  Janu- 
ary 7th  in  an  upright  fork  of  a  red  maple  sapling  on  the 
edge  of  Hubbard's  Swamp  Wood,  north  side,  near  river, 
about  eight  feet  from  the  ground,  the  deep  grooves  made 
by  the  twigs  on  each  side.  It  may  be  a  yellowbird's. 

Extreme  breadth  outside,  three  inches  ;  inside,  one 
and  a  half.  Extreme  height  outside,  three  inches  ;  in- 
side, one  and  five  eighths ;  sides,  three  quarters  of  an 
inch  thick. 

It  is  composed  of  seven  principal  materials.  (I  name 
the  most  abundant  first ;  I  mean  most  abundant  when 
compressed.) 

1.  Small  compact  lengths  of  silvery  pappus  about 
seven  eighths  of  an  inch  long,  perhaps  of  erechthites, 
one  half  inch  deep  and  nearly  pure,  a  very  warm  bed, 
chiefly  concealed,  just  beneath  the  lining  inside. 

1  [The  chipping  sparrow.] 


350     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

2.  Slender  catkins,  often  with  the  buds  and  twig  ends 
(of  perhaps  hazel),  throughout  the  whole  bottom  and 
sides,  making  it  thick  but  open  and  light,  mixed  with 

(3)  milkweed  silk,  i.  e.  fibres  like  flax,  but  white, 
being  bleached,  also  in  sides  and  rim,  some  of  it  almost 
threadlike,  white  with  some  of  the  dark  epidermis. 
From  the  pods  ?  ^ 

4.  Thin  and  narrow  strips  of  grape-vine  bark,  chiefly 
in  the  rim  and  sides  for  three  quarters  of  an  inch  down, 
and  here  and  there  throughout. 

5.  Wads  of  apparently  brown  fern  wool,  mixed  with 
the  last  three. 

6.  Some  finer  pale-brown  and  thinner  shreds  of  bark 
within  the  walls  and  bottom,  apparently  not  grape.  If 
this  were  added  to  the  grape,  these  five  materials  would 
be  not  far  from  equally  abundant. 

7.  Some  very  fine  pale-brown  wiry  fibres  for  a  lining, 
just  above  the  pappus  and  somewhat  mixed  with  it, 
perhaps  for  coolness,  being  springy. 

Directly  beneath  the  pappus  were  considerable  other 
shreds  of  grape  and  the  other  bark,  short  and  broken. 
In  the  rim  and  sides  some  cotton  ravellings  and  some 
short  shreds  of  fish-line  or  crow-fence.  A  red  maple  leaf 
within  the  bottom ;  a  kernel  of  corn  just  under  the  lining 
of  fibres  (perhaps  dropped  by  a  crow  or  blackbird  or 
jay  or  squirrel  while  the  nest  was  building).  A  few  short 
lengths  of  stubble  or  weed  stems  in  the  bottom  and 
sides.  A  very  little  brown  wool,  like,  apparently,  that  in 
the  nest  last  described,  which  may  be  brown  fern  wool. 

*  No,  I  am  about  certain,  from  comparison,  that  it  is  the  fibres  of  the 
bark  of  the  stem.   Vide  19th  tnst. 


YELLOW   WARBLER  861 

The  milkweed  and  fern  wool  conspicuous  without  the 
rim  and  about  the  twigs.  I  was  most  struck  by  that  mass 
of  pure  pappus  under  the  inside  lining. 

Jan.  19, 1856.  Gathered  some  dry  water  milkweed 
stems  to  compare  with  the  materials  of  the  bird's  nest 
of  the  18th.  The  bird  used,  I  am  almost  certain,  the 
fibres  of  the  bark  of  the  stem, —  not  the  pods,  —  just 
beneath  the  epidermis  ;  only  the  bird's  is  older  and  more 
fuzzy  and  finer,  like  worn  twine  or  string.  The  fibres 
and  bark  have  otherwise  the  same  appearance  under  the 
microscope.  I  stripped  off  some  bark  about  one  sixteenth 
of  an  inch  wide  and  six  inches  long  and,  separating 
ten  or  twelve  fibres  from  the  epidermis,  rolled  it  in  my 
fingers,  making  a  thread  about  the  ordinary  size.  This 
I  could  not  break  by  direct  pulling,  and  no  man  could. 
I  doubt  if  a  thread  of  flax  or  hemp  of  the  same  size 
could  be  made  so  strong.  What  an  admirable  material 
for  the  Indian's  fish-line !  I  can  easily  get  much  longer 
fibres.  I  hold  a  piece  of  the  dead  weed  in  my  hands, 
strip  off  a  narrow  shred  of  the  bark  before  my  neigh- 
bor's eyes  and  separate  ten  or  twelve  fibres  as  fine  as  a 
hair,  roll  them  in  my  fingers,  and  offer  him  the  thread 
to  try  its  strength.  He  is  surprised  and  mortified  to  find 
that  he  cannot  break  it.  Probably  both  the  Indian  and 
the  bird  discovered  for  themselves  this  same  (so  to  call 
it)  wild  hemp.  The  corresponding  fibres  of  the  mikania 
seem  not  so  divisible,  become  not  so  fine  and  fuzzy ; 
though  somewhat  similar,  are  not  nearly  so  strong.  I 
have  a  hang-bird's  nest  from  the  riverside,  made  almost 
entirely  of  this,  in  narrow  shreds  or  strips  with  the  epi- 
dermis on,  wound  round  and  round  the  twigs  and  woven 


352     NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

into  a  basket.  That  is,  this  bird  has  used  perhaps  the 
strongest  fibre  which  the  fields  afforded  and  which  most 
civilized  men  have  not  detected. 

Knocked  down  the  bottom  of  that  summer  yellow- 
bird's  nest  made  on  the  oak  at  the  Island  last  sum- 
mer. It  is  chiefly  of  fern  wool  and  also,  apparently, 
some  sheep's  wool  (?),  with  a  fine  green  moss  (ap- 
parently that  which  grows  on  button-bushes)  inmixed, 
and  some  milkweed  fibre,  and  all  very  firmly  agglu- 
tinated together.  Some  shreds  of  grape-vine  bark  about 
it.  Do  not  know  what  portion  of  the  whole  nest  it  is. 

[/See  also  under  Flicker,  p.  198.] 

MYRTLE    WARBLER  ;    MYRTLE-BIRD 

May  6,  1855.  Myrtle-birds  very  numerous  just  be- 
yond Second  Division.  They  sing  like  an  instrument, 
teee  teee  te^ttt^tt  t,  on  very  various  keys,  i.  e.  high 
or  low,  sometimes  beginning  like  phe-he.^  As  I  sat  by 
roadside  one  drew  near,  perched  within  ten  feet,  and 
dived  once  or  twice  with  a  curve  to  catch  the  little 
black  flies  about  my  head,  coming  once  within  three 
feet,  not  minding  me  much.  I  could  not  tell  at  first 
what  attracted  it  toward  me.  It  saw  them  from  twenty- 
five  feet  off.  There  was  a  little  swarm  of  small  flies, 
regularly  fly-like  with  large  shoulders,  about  my  head. 
Many  white-throated  sparrows  there. 

^  [The  song-  that  Thoreau  heard  was,  of  course,  that  of  the  white 
throated  sparrows  he  saw  at  the  same  place.  He  was  long  in  learning 
the  real  authorship  of  this  song,  which  he  at  first  credited  to  the  chicka- 
dee and  then  for  several  years  to  the  "  myrtle-bird."] 


MYRTLE   WAKBLER  353 

Oct.  19,  1856.  See  quite  a  flock  of  myrtle-birds, — 
which  I  might  carelessly  have  mistaken  for  slate-colored 
snowbirds, —  flitting  about  on  the  rocky  hillside  under 
Conantum  Clifif.  They  show  about  three  white  or  light- 
colored  spots  when  they  fly,  commonly  no  bright  yel- 
low, though  some  are  pretty  bright.  They  perch  on  the 
side  of  the  dead  mulleins,  on  rocks,  on  the  ground,  and 
directly  dart  off,  apparently  in  pursuit  of  some  insect. 
I  hear  no  note  from  them.  They  are  thus  near  or  on 
the  ground,  then,  not  as  in  spring. 

Oct.  21, 1857.  I  see  many  myrtle-birds  now  about  the 
house  this  forenoon,  on  the  advent  of  cooler  weather. 
They  keep  flying  up  against  the  house  and  the  window 
and  fluttering  there,  as  if  they  would  come  in,  or  alight 
on  the  wood-pile  or  pump.  They  would  commonly  be 
mistaken  for  sparrows,  but  show  more  white  when  they  fly, 
beside  the  yellow  on  the  rump  and  sides  of  breast  seen 
near  to  and  two  white  bars  on  the  wings.  Chubby  birds. 

PINE   WARBLER 

April  23,  1852.  I  hear  this  morning,  in  the  pine 
woods  above  the  railroad  bridge,  for  the  first  time, 
that  delicious  cool-sounding  wetter-wetter-wetter-wetter- 
wet'  from  that  small  bird  (pine  warbler?)  in  the  tops 
of  the  pines.  I  associate  it  with  the  cool^  moist.,  ever- 
green spring  woods. 

April  2,  1853.  Heard  and  saw  what  I  call  the  pine 
warbler,  — vetter  vetter  vetter  vetter  vet,  —  the  cool 
woodland  sound.  The  first  this  year  of  the  higher-col- 
ored birds,  after  the  bluebird  and  the  blackbird's  wing; 
is  it  not  ?  It  so  affects  me  as  something  more  tender. 


354     NOTES  ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

April  8,  1853.  Saw  and  heard  my  small  pine  warbler 
shaking  out  his  trills,  or  jingle,  even  like  money  com- 
ing to  its  bearings.  They  appear  much  the  smaller  from 
perching  high  in  the  tops  of  white  pines  and  flitting 
from  tree  to  tree  at  that  height. 

April  9,  1853.  On  a  pitch  [pine]  on  side  of  J.  Hos- 
mer's  river  hill,  a  pine  warbler,  by  ventriloquism  sound- 
ing farther  off  than  it  was,  which  was  seven  or  eight 
feet,  hopping  and  flitting  from  twig  to  twig,  apparently 
picking  the  small  flies  at  and  about  the  base  of  the 
needles  at  the  extremities  of  the  twigs.  Saw  two  after- 
ward on  the  walls  by  roadside. 

April  9,  1856.  While  I  am  looking  at  the  hazel,  I 
hear  from  the  old  locality,  the  edge  of  the  great  pines 
and  oaks  in  the  swamp  by  the  railroad,  the  note  of  the 
pine  warbler.  It  sounds  far  off  and  faint,  but,  coming 
out  and  sitting  on  the  iron  rail,  I  am  surprised  to  see 
it  within  three  or  four  rods,  on  the  upper  part  of  a 
white  oak,  where  it  is  busily  catching  insects,  hopping 
along  toward  the  extremities  of  the  limbs  and  looking 
off  on  all  sides,  twice  darting  off  like  a  wood  pewee 
two  rods  over  the  railroad  after  an  insect  and  return- 
ing to  the  oak,  and  from  time  to  time  uttering  its  simple, 
rapidly  iterated,  cool-sounding  notes.  When  heard  a 
little  within  the  wood,  as  he  hops  to  that  side  of  the 
oak,  they  sound  particularly  cool  and  inspiring,  like 
a  part  of  the  evergreen  forest  itself,  the  trickling  of 
the  sap.  Its  bright-yellow  or  golden  throat  and  breast, 
etc.,  are  conspicuous  at  this  season,  —  a  greenish  yellow 
above,  with  two  white  bars  on  its  bluish-brown  wings. 
It  sits  often  with  loose-hung  wings  and  forked  tail. 


PINE   WARBLER  355 

April  11,  1856.  Hear  in  the  old  place,  the  pitch  pine 
grove  on  the  bank  by  the  river,  the  pleasant  ringing 
note  of  the  pine  warbler.  Its  a-che,  vitter  vitter,  vitter 
vitter,  vitter  vitter,  vitter  vitter,  vet  rings  through  the 
open  pine  grove  very  rapidly.  I  also  heard  it  at  the 
old  place  by  the  railroad,  as  I  came  along.  It  is  re- 
markable that  I  have  so  often  heard  it  first  in  these 
two  localities,  i.  e.  where  the  railroad  skirts  the  north 
edge  of  a  small  swamp  densely  filled  with  tall  old  white 
pines  and  a  few  white  oaks,  and  in  a  young  grove  com- 
posed wholly  of  pitch  pines  on  the  otherwise  bare,  very 
high  and  level  bank  of  the  Assabet.  When  the  season 
is  advanced  enough,  I  am  pretty  sure  to  hear  its  ring- 
ing note  in  both  those  places. 

April  15,  1859.  The  warm  pine  woods  are  all  alive 
this  afternoon  with  the  jingle  of  the  pine  warbler,  the 
for  the  most  part  invisible  minstrel.  That  wood,  for 
example,  at  the  Punk  Oak,  where  we  sit  to  hear  it.  It 
is  surprising  how  quickly  the  earth,  which  was  covered 
half  an  inch  deep  this  morning,  and  since  so  wet,  has 
become  comparatively  dry,  so  that  we  sit  on  the  ground 
or  on  the  dry  leaves  in  woods  at  3  P.  m.  and  smell  the 
pines  and  see  and  hear  the  flies,  etc.,  buzz  about,  thougli 
the  sun  did  not  come  out  till  12  M.  This  morning,  the 
aspect  of  winter;  at  mid-forenoon,  the  ground  reeking 
with  moisture ;  at  3  P.  M.,  sit  on  dry  leaves  and  hear 
the  flies  buzz  and  smell  the  pines!  That  wood  is  now- 
very  handsome  seen  from  the  westerly  side,  the  sun 
falling  far  through  it,  though  some  trunks  are  wholly 
in  shade.  This  warbler  impresses  me  as  if  it  were 
calling  the  trees  to  life.  I  think  of  springing  twigs.   Its 


356     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIKDS 

jingle  rings  through  the  wood  at  short  intervals,  as  if, 
like  an  electric  shock,  it  imparted  a  fresh  spring  life  to 
them.  You  hear  the  same  bird,  now  here  now  there,  as 
.it  incessantly  flits  about,  commonly  invisible  and  utter- 
ing its  simple  jingle  on  very  different  keys,  and  from 
time  to  time  a  companion  is  heard  farther  or  nearer. 
This  is  a  peculiarly  summer-like  sound.  Go  to  a  warm 
pine  wood-side  on  a  pleasant  day  at  this  season  after 
storm,  and  hear  it  ring  with  the  jingle  of  the  pine  warbler. 

OVEN-BIRD;    GOLDEN-CROWNED   THRUSH; 
"  NIGHT- WARBLER  "  ^ 

June  11,  1851.  I  hear  the  night-warbler  breaking 
out  as  in  his  dreams,  made  so  from  the  first  for  some 
mysterious  reason. 

June  29,  1851.  The  night- warbler  sings  the  same 
strain  at  noon. 

May  10,  1853.  P.  M.  —  Hear  the  night-warbler  now 
distinctly.  It  does  not  soon  repeat  its  note,  and  disap- 
pears with  the  sound. 

June  19,  1853.  Heard  my  night-warbler  on  a  soli- 
tary white  pine  in  the  Heywood  Clearing  by  the  Peak. 
Discovered  it  at  last,  looking  like  a  small  piece  of 
black  bark  curving  partly  over  the  limb.  No  fork  to 
its  tail.  It  appeared  black  beneath  ;  was  very  shy,  not 
bigger  than  a  yellowbird,  and  very  slender. 

^  [Practically  all  of  Thoreau's  references,  however  slight,  to  his  mys- 
terious "  night-warbler  "  are  here  printed.  He  never  satisfied  himself 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  bird,  but  the  accumulated  evidence  makes  it 
clear  that  the  night-warbler's  song  was  no  other  than  the  flight-song  of 
the  oven-bird,  though  the  somewhat  similar  aerial  song  of  the  Mary- 
land yellow-throat  deceived  him  on  one  occasion.] 


OVEN-BIRD;   "NIGHT- WARBLER"    357 

May  28,  1854.  The  night-warbler,  after  his  strain, 
drops  down  almost  perpendicularly  into  a  tree-top  and 
is  lost. 

May  29,  1854.  Saw  what  I  thought  my  night- war- 
bler, —  sparrow -like  with  chestnut  (?)  stripes  on 
breast,  white  or  whitish  below  and  about  eyes,  and 
perhaps  chestnut  (??)  head. 

May  3,  1857.  Emerson  says  that  Brewer  tells  him 
my  "  night  warbler  "  is  probably  the  Nashville  war- 
bler. 

May  12,  1857.  A  night-warbler,  plainly  light  be- 
neath. It  always  flies  to  a  new  perch  immediately  after 
its  song. 

May  16,  1858.  A  golden-crowned  thrush  hops  quite 
near.  It  is  quite  small,  about  the  size  of  the  creeper, 
with  the  upper  part  of  its  breast  thickly  and  distinctly 
pencilled  with  black,  a  tawny  head ;  and  utters  now 
only  a  sharp  cluck  for  a  chip.  See  and  hear  a  redstart, 
the  rhythm  of  whose  strain  is  tse,-tse,  tse'-tse,  tse\  em- 
phasizing the  last  syllable  of  all  and  not  ending  with 
the  common  tsear.  Hear  the  night-warbler. 

May  17,  1858.  Just  after  hearing  my  night-warbler 
I  see  two  birds  on  a  tree.  The  one  which  I  examined 
—  as  well  as  I  could  without  a  glass  —  had  a  white 
throat  with  a  white  spot  on  his  wings,  was  dark  above 
and  moved  from  time  to  time  like  a  creeper,  and  it  was 
about  the  creeper's  size.  The  other  bird,  which  I  did 
not  examine  particularly,  was  a  little  larger  and  more 
tawny.  ^ 

May  19,  1858.    Heard  the  night-warbler  begin  his 

^  Perhaps  golden-crowned  thrush. 


358     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

strain  just  like  an  oven-bird  !  I  have  noticed  that  when 
it  drops  down  into  the  woods  it  darts  suddenly  one  side 
to  a  perch  when  low. 

Aug.  5,  1858.  While  passing  there,  I  heard  what  I 
should  call  my  night-warbler's  note,  and,  looking  up, 
saw  the  bird  dropping  to  a  bush  on  the  hillside. 
Looking  through  the  glass,  I  saw  that  it  was  the 
Maryland  yellow-throat !  !  and  it  afterward  flew  to  the 
button-bushes  in  the  meadow. 

May  8,  1860.  The  night-warbler's  note. 

May  18,  1860.  The  night-warbler  is  a  powerful 
singer  for  so  small  a  bird.  It  launches  into  the  air 
above  the  forest,  or  over  some  hollow  or  open  space  in 
the  woods,  and  challenges  the  attention  of  the  woods 
by  its  rapid  and  impetuous  warble,  and  then  drops 
down  swiftly  into  the  tree-tops  like  a  performer  with- 
drawing behind  the  scenes,  and  he  is  very  lucky  who 
detects  where  it  alights. 

Aug.  28,  1860.  Hear  the  night-warbler  and  the 
whip-poor-will. 

AMERICAN  REDSTART 

May  10,  1853.  I  hear,  and  have  for  a  week,  in  the 
woods,  the  note  of  one  or  more  small  birds  somewhat 
like  a  yellowbird's.  What  is  it?  Is  it  the  redstart?  I 
now  see  one  of  these.  The  first  I  have  distinguished. 
And  now  I  feel  pretty  certain  that  my  black  and  yellow 
warbler  of  May  1st  was  this.  As  I  sit,  it  inquisitively 
hops  nearer  and  nearer.  It  is  one  of  the  election-birds* 
of  rare  colors  which  I  can  remember,  mingled  dark  and 
^  [Birds  shot  on  election  day.    See  p.  32G.  ] 


AMERICAN   REDSTART  859 

reddish.  This  reminds  me  that  I  supposed  much  more 
variety  and  fertility  in  nature  before  I  had  learned  the 
numbers  and  the  names  of  each  order.  I  find  that  I 
had  expected  such  fertility  in  our  Concord  woods  alone 
as  not  even  the  completest  museum  of  stuffed  birds  of 
all  the  forms  and  colors  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
comes  up  to. 

[/See  also  under  Oven-bird,  p.  357.] 

WARBLERS    (iN    GENERAL) 

April  19,  1854.  Within  a  few  days  the  warblers 
have  begun  to  come.  They  are  of  every  hue.  Nature 
made  them  to  show  her  colors  with.  There  are  as  many 
as  there  are  colors  and  shades.  In  certain  lights,  as  yes- 
terday against  the  snow,  nothing  can  be  more  splendid 
and  celestial  than  the  color  of  the  bluebird. 


XIX 

TITLAEKS,   THRASHERS,   AND  WRENS 

AMERICAN   PIPIT;   TITLARK 

Oct.  26,  1853.  I  hear  a  faint  twittering  of  the  spar- 
rows in  the  grass,  like  crickets.  Those  flitting  spar- 
rows ^  which  we  have  had  for  some  weeks,  are  they  not 
the  sober  snowbirds  (tree  sparrows  ?)?  They  fly  in  a 
great  drifting  flock,  wheeling  and  dashing  about,  as  if 
preluding  or  acting  a  snow-storm,  with  rapid  te  te  te. 
They  are  as  dry  and  rustling  as  the  grass. 

JVov.  6,  1853.  It  is  remarkable  how  little  we  attend 
to  what  is  passing  before  us  constantly,  unless  our  gen- 
ius directs  our  attention  that  way.  There  are  these 
little  sparrows  with  white  in  tail,  perhaps  the  prevailing 
bird  of  late,  which  have  flitted  before  me  so  many  falls 
and  springs,^  and  yet  they  have  been  as  it  were  stran- 
gers to  me,  and  I  have  not  inquired  whence  they  came 
or  whither  they  were  going,  or  what  their  habits  were. 
It  is  surprising  how  little  most  of  us  are  contented  to 
know  about  the  sparrows  which  drift  about  in  the  air 
before  us  just  before  the  first  snows.  I  hear  the  downy 
woodpecker's  metallic  tchip  or  peep.  Now  I  see  where 
many  a  bird  builded  last  spring  or  summer.  These  are 
leaves  which  do  not  fall. 

1  [From  other  entries  in  the  Journal  it  is  evident  that  these  "  spar- 
'  rows  "  which  Thoreau  saw  in  larg^e  flocks  in  the  fall  were  titlarks.  J 

2  [Though  common  in  the  autumn,  the  titlark  is  rare  in  the  spring'  in 
New  Eng-land.  Thoreau  was  probably  only  taking  it  for  granted  that 
he  had  often  seen  these  birds  in  the  spring.] 


BROWN   THRASHER  361 

MOCKINGBIRD 

Aitg.  18,  1854.  I  think  I  saw  a  mockingbird  on  a 
black  cherry  near  Pedrick's.  Size  of  and  like  a  cat- 
bird ;  bluish-black  side-head,  a  white  spot  on  closed 
wings,  lighter  breast  and  beneath ;  but  he  flew  before  I 
had  fairly  adjusted  my  glass.  There  were  brown  thrash- 
ers with  it  making  their  clicking  note. 

CATBIRD 

May  8,  1852.  I  hear  a  catbird  singing  within  a  rod 
among  the  alders,  but  it  is  too  dark  to  see  him.  Now  he 
stops  and  half  angrily,  half  anxiously  and  inquisitively, 
inquires  char-char^  sounding  like  the  caw  of  a  crow,  not 
like  a  cat. 

May  21, 1852.  The  catbird  sings  like  a  robin  some- 
times, sometimes  like  a  blackbird's  sprayey  warble. 
There  is  more  of  squeak  or  mew,  and  also  of  clear 
whistle^  than  in  the  thrasher's  note. 

\^See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  427.] 

BROWN   THRASHER 

May  3,  1852.  Hear  the  first  brown  thrasher,  —  two 
of  them.  .  .  .  They  drown  all  the  rest.  He  says  cher- 
ruwit,  cherruwit ;  go  ahead,  go  ahead ;  give  it  to  him, 
give  it  to  him;  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

May  16,  1852.  The  thrasher  has  a  sort  of  laugh  in 
his  strain  which  the  catbird  has  not. 

May  18,  1852.  This  afternoon  the  brown  thrashers 
are  very  numerous  and  musical.  They  plunge  down- 
ward when  they  leave  their  perch,  in  a  peculiar  way. 


362     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

It  is  a  bird  that  appears  to  make  a  business  of  singing 
for  its  own  amusement.  There  is  great  variety  in  its 
strains.  It  is  not  easy  to  detect  any  repetition. 

June  24,  1853.  The  brown  thrasher's  nest  has  been 
robbed,  probably  by  some  other  bird.  It  rested  on  a 
branch  of  a  swamp-pink  and  some  grape-vines,  effect- 
ually concealed  and  protected  by  grape-vines  and 
green-briar  in  a  matted  bower  above  it.  The  foundation 
of  pretty  stout  twigs,  eight  or  nine  inches  in  diameter, 
surmounted  by  coarse  strips  of  grape  bark,  giving 
form  to  the  nest,  and  then  lined  with  some  harsh,  wiry 
root- fibres ;  within  rather  small  and  shallow,  and  the 
whole  fabric  of  loose  texture,  not  easy  to  remove. 

April  30,  1856.  A  fine  morning.  I  hear  the  first 
brown  thrasher  singing  within  three  or  four  rods  of  me 
on  the  shrubby  hillside  in  front  of  the  Hadley  place.  I 
think  I  had  a  glimpse  of  one  darting  down  from  a  sap- 
ling-top into  the  bushes  as  I  rode  by  the  same  place 
on  the  morning. of  the  28th. 

This,  I  think,  is  the  very  place  to  hear  them  early, 
a  dry  hillside  sloping  to  the  south,  covered  with  young 
wood  and  shrub  oaks.  I  am  the  more  attracted  to  that 
house  as  a'  dwelling-place.  To  live  where  you  would 
hear  the  first  brown  thrasher!  First,  perchance,  you 
have  a  glimpse  of  one's  ferruginous  long  brown  back, 
instantly  lost  amid  the  shrub  oaks,  and  are  uncertain 
if  it  was  a  thrasher,  or  one  of  the  other  thrushes ;  and 
your  uncertainty  lasts  commonly  a  day  or  two,  until 
its  rich  and  varied  strain  is  heard.  Surveying  seemed 
a  noble  employment  which  brought  me  within  hearing 
of  this  bird.  I  was  trying  to  get  the  exact  course  of  a 


WINTER   WREN  363 

wall  thickly  beset  with  shrub  oaks  and  birches,  mak- 
ing an  opening  through  them  with  axe  and  knife,  while 
the  hillside  seemed  to  quiver  or  pulsate  with  the  sud- 
den melody.  Again,  it  is  with  the  side  of  the  ear  that 
you  hear.  The  music  or  the  beauty  belong  not  to 
your  work  itself  but  some  of  its  accompaniments. 
You  would  fain  devote  yourself  to  the  melody,  but 
you  will  hear  more  of  it  if  you  devote  yourself  to-  your 
work. 

May  4,  1859.  We  hear  a  thrasher  sing  for  half  an 
hour  steadily,  —  a  very  rich  singer  and  heard  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  off  very  distinctly.  This  is  first  heard  com- 
monly at  planting- time.  He  sings  as  if  conscious  of  his 
power. 

June  19, 1860.  Observe  a  nest  crowded  full  with  four 
young  brown  thrashers  half  fledged.  You  would  think 
they  would  die  of  heat,  so  densely  packed  and  over- 
flowing. Three  head  one  way,  and  the  other  lies  across. 
How  quickly  a  fox  would  gobble  them  up ! 

WINTER  WREN 

July  10,  1858.  The  FHngilla  hyemalis  was  most 
common  in  the  upper  part  of  the  ravine,'  and  I  saw  a 
large  bird  of  prey,  perhaps  an  eagle,  sailing  over  the 
head  of  the  ravine.  The  wood  thrush  and  veery '  sang 
regularly,  especially  morning  and  evening.  But,  above 
all,  the  peculiar  and   memorable   songster   was   that 

1  [Tuckerman's  Ravine  on  the  side  of  Mt.  Washingrton.] 

2  [Doubtless  the  olive-backed  thrush  and  Bicknell's  thrush,  which 
are  the  only  thrushes  found  on  the  upper  slopes  of  Mt.  Washington. 
See  note  on  wood  thrush,  p.  377.] 


364     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Monadnock-like  one/  keeping  up  an  exceedingly  brisk 
and  lively  strain.  It  was  remarkable  for  its  incessant 
twittering  flow.  Yet  we  never  got  sight  of  the  bird, 
at  least  while  singing,  so  that  I  could  not  identify  it, 
and  my  lameness  ^  prevented  my  pursuing  it.  I  heard 
it  afterward,  even  in  the  Franconia  Notch,  It  was  sur- 
prising for  its  steady  and  uninterrupted  flow,  for  when 
one  stopped,  another  appeared  to  take  up  the  strain. 
It  reminded  me  of  a  fine  corkscrew  stream  issuing  with 
incessant  lisping  tinkle  from  a  cork,  flowing  rapidly, 
and  I  said  that  he  had  pulled  out  the  spile  and  left  it 
running.^  That  was  the  rhythm,  but  with  a  sharper 
tinkle  of  course.  It  had  no  more  variety  than  that,  but 
it  was  more  remarkable  for  its  continuance  and  mo- 
notonousness  than  any  bird's  note  I  ever  heard.  It  evi- 
dently belongs  only  to  cool  mountainsides,  high  up  amid 
the  fir  and  spruce.  I  saw  once  flitting  through  the  fir- 
tops  restlessly  a  small  white  and  dark  bird,  sylvia-like, 
which  may  have  been  it.  Sometimes  they  appeared  to 
be  attracted  by  our  smoke.  The  note  was  so  incessant 
that  at  length  you  only  noticed  when  it  ceased. 

SHORT-BILLED   MARSH   WREN 

Aug.  5,  1858.  Just  opposite  this  bay,*  I  heard  a  pe- 
culiar note  which  I  thought  at  first  might  be  that  of  a 
kingbird,  but  soon  saw  for  the  first  time  a  wren  within 

^  [On  June  4  of  the  same  year  he  had  heard  on  Mt.  Monadnock  "  a 
very  peculiar  lively  and  interesting'  strain  from  some  bird,"  but  had 
been  unable  to  see  the  singer.] 

^  [He  had  sprained  his  ankle  the  day  before.] 

^  [The  song  described  is  evidently  that  of  the  winter  wren.] 

*  [Lily  Bay  in  the  Sudbury  River  and  in  the  town  of  Sudbury.] 


SHORT-BILLED   MARSH   WREN     365 

two  or  three  rods  perched  on  the  tall  sedge  or  the  wool- 
grass  and  making  it,  —  probably  the  short-billed  marsh 
wren.  It  was  peculiarly  brisk  and  rasping,  not  at  all 
musical,  the  rhythm  something  like  shar  te  dittle  ittle 
ittle  ittle  ittle,  but  the  last  part  was  drier  or  less  liquid 
than  this  implies.  It  was  a  small  bird,  quite  dark 
above  and  apparently  plain  ashy-white  beneath,  and 
held  its  head  up  when  it  sang,  and  also  commonly  its 
tail.  It  dropped  into  the  deep  sedge  on  our  approach, 
but  did  not  go  off,  as  we  saw  by  the  motion  of  the 
grass ;  then  reappeared  and  uttered  its  brisk  notes 
quite  near  us,  and,  flying  off,  was  lost  in  the  sedge 
again. 

[See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  424. J 


XX 

CREEPERS,  NUTHATCHES,  TITS,  AND  KINGLETS 

BROWN  CREEPER 

Nov.  26,  1859.  I  see  here  to-day  one  brown  creeper 
busily  inspecting  the  pitch  pines.  It  begins  at  the  base, 
and  creeps  rapidly  upward  by  starts,  adhering  close  to 
the  bark  and  shifting  a  little  from  side  to  side  often  till 
near  the  top,  then  suddenly  darts  off  downward  to  the 
base  of  another  tree,  where  it  repeats  the  same  course. 
This  has  no  black  cockade,  like  the  nuthatch. 

[/See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  416, 
422.] 

WHITE-BELLIED   NUTHATCH 

April  6,  1856.  I  went  to  the  oaks.  Heard  there  a 
nuthatch's  faint  vibrating  tut-tut,  somewhat  even  like 
croaking  of  frogs,  as  it  made  its  way  up  the  oak  bark 
and  turned  head  down  to  peck.  Anon  it  answered  its 
mate  with  a  gnah  gnah. 

Dec.  5,  1856.  As  I  walk  along  the  side  of  the  Hill, 
a  pair  of  nuthatches  flit  by  toward  a  walnut,^  Ajing 
low  in  midcourse  and  then  ascending  to  the  tree.  I 
hear  one's  faint  tut  tut  or  gnah,  gnah  —  no  doubt  heard  a 
good  way  by  its  mate  now  flown  into  the  next  tree  — 
as  it  is  ascending  the  trunk  or  branch  of  a  walnut  in  a 
zigzag  manner,  hitching  along,  prying  into  the  crevices 

^  [Thoreau  was  accustomed  to  use  the  name  walnut  for  the  various 
species  of  hickory.] 


WHITE-BELLIED   NUTHATCH        367 

of  the  bark ;  and  now  it  has  found  a  savory  morsel, 
which  it  pauses  to  devour,  then  flits  to  a  new  bough. 
It  is  a  chubby  bird,  white,  slate-color,  and  black. 

Jan.  6,  1859.  As  I  go  over  the  causeway,  near  the 
railroad  bridge,  I  hear  a  fine  busy  twitter,  and,  looking 
up,  see  a  nuthatch  hopping  along  and  about  a  swamp  white 
oak  branch,  inspecting  every  side  of  it,  as  readily  hang- 
ing head-downwards  as  standing  upright,  and  then  it 
utters  a  distinct  gnah^  as  if  to  attract  a  companion. 
Indeed,  that  other,  finer  twitter  seemed  designed  to 
keep  some  companion  in  tow,  or  else  it  was  like  a  very 
busy  man  talking  to  himself.  The  companion  was  a 
single  chickadee,  which  lisped  six  or  eight  feet  off. 
There  were,  perhaps,  no  other  birds  than  these  two 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  And  when  the  nuthatch 
flitted  to  another  tree  two  rods  off,  the  chickadee  un- 
failingly followed. 

March  5,  1859.  Going  down-town  this  forenoon,  I 
heard  a  white-bellied  nuthatch  on  an  elm  within  twenty 
feet,  uttering  peculiar  notes  and  more  like  a  song  than 
I  remember  to  have  heard  from  it.  There  was  a  cliick- 
adee  close  by,  to  which  it  may  have  been  addressed. 
It  was  something  like  to-ivhat  what  what  what  what^ 
rapidly  repeated,  and  not  the  usual  gnah  gnah ;  and 
this  instant  it  occurs  to  me  that  this  may  be  that  earli- 
est spring  note  which  I  hear,  and  have  referred  to  a 
woodpecker !  (This  is  before  /  have  chanced  to  see  a 
bluebird,  blackbird,  or  robin  in  Concord  this  year.)  It 
is  the  spring  note  of  the  nuthatch.  It  paused  in  its  pro- 
gress about  the  trunk  or  branch  and  uttered  this  lively 
but  peculiarly  inarticulate  song,  an  awkward  attempt  to 


368     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

warble  almost  in  the  face  of  the  chickadee,  as  if  it  were 
one  of  its  kind.  It  was  thus  giving  vent  to  the  spring 
within  it.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  it  is  what  I  have  heard 
in  former  springs  or  winters  long  ago,  fabulously  early 
in  the  season,  when  we  men  had  but  just  begun  to  anti- 
cipate the  spring,  —  for  it  would  seem  that  we,  in  our 
anticipations  and  sympathies,  include  in  succession  the 
moods  and  expressions  of  all  creatures.  When  only  the 
snow  had  begun  to  melt  and  no  rill  of  song  had 
broken  loose,  a  note  so  dry  and  fettered  still,  so  inartic- 
ulate and  half  thawed  out,  that  you  might  (and  would 
commonly)  mistake  for  the  tapping  of  a  woodpecker. 
As  if  the  young  nuthatch  in  its  hole  had  listened  only 
to  the  tapping  of  woodpeckers  and  learned  that  music, 
and  now,  when  it  would  sing  and  give  vent  to  its  spring 
ecstasy,  it  can  modulate  only  some  notes  like  that. 
That  is  its  theme  still.  That  is  its  ruling  idea  of 
song  and  music,  —  only  a  little  clangor  and  liquidity 
added  to  the  tapping  of  the  woodpecker.  It  was  the 
handle  by  which  my  thoughts  took  firmly  hold  on 
spring. 

[See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  415, 
416.] 

CHICKADEE 

[Dated  only  1838.]  Sometimes  I  hear  the  veery'3 
silver  clarion,  or  the  brazen  note  of  the  impatient  jay, 
or  in  secluded  woods  the  chickadee  doles  out  her  scanty 
notes,  which  sing  the  praise  of  heroes,  and  set  forth 
the  loveliness  of  virtue  evermore.  —  JPhe-he. 

Nov.  9, 1850.  The  chickadees,  if  I  stand  long  enough, 
hop  nearer  and  nearer  inquisitively,  from  pine  bough 


CHICKADEE  369 

to  pine  bough,  till  within  four  or  five  feet,  occasionally 
lisping  a  note. 

Oct.  10,  1851.  As  I  stood  amid  the  witch-hazels 
near  Flint's  Pond,  a  flock  of  a  dozen  chickadees  came 
flitting  and  singing  about  me  with  great  ado,  —  a  most 
cheering  and  enlivening  sound,  —  with  incessant  day- 
day-day  and  a  fine  wiry  strain  betweenwhiles,  flitting 
ever  nearer  and  nearer  and  nearer,  inquisitively,  till 
the  boldest  was  within  five  feet  of  me ;  then  suddenly, 
their  curiosity  satiated,  they  flit  by  degrees  further 
away  and  disappear,  and  I  hear  with  regret  their  re- 
treating day-day-days. 

March  10,  1852.  Heard  the  phoebe  note  of  the 
chickadee  to-day  for  the  first  time.  I  had  at  first  heard 
their  day-day-day  ungratefully,  —  ah!  you  but  carry 
my  thoughts  back  to  winter,  —  but  anon  I  found  that 
they  too  had  become  spring  birds  ;  they  had  changed 
their  note.  Even  they  feel  the  influence  of  spring. 

Oct.  23,  1852.  The  chickadees  flit  along,  following 
me  inquisitively  a  few  rods  with  lisping,  tinkling  note, 
—  flit  within  a  few  feet  of  me  from  curiosity,  head 
downward  on  the  pines. 

March  22,  1853.  I  hear  the  phoebe  note  of  the 
chickadee,  one  taking  it  up  behind  another  as  in  a  catch, 
phe-hee  phe-hee. 

Dec.  1,  1853.  Those  trees  and  shrubs  which  retain 
their  withered  leaves  through  the  winter  —  shrub  oaks 
and  young  white,  red,  and  black  oaks,  the  lower  branches 
of  larger  trees  of  the  last-mentioned  species,  hornbeam, 
etc.,  and  young  hickories —  seem  to  form  an  interme- 
diate class  between  deciduous  and  evergreen  trees.  They 


370    NOTES  ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

may  almost  be  called  the  ever-reds.  Their  leaves,  which 
are  falling  all  winter  long,  serve  as  a  shelter  to  rabbits 
and  partridges  and  other  winter  quadrupeds  and  birds. 
Even  the  little  chickadees  love  to  skulk  amid  them  and 
peep  out  from  behind  them.  I  hear  their  faint,  silvery, 
lisping  notes,  like  tinkling  glass,  and  occasionally  a 
sprightly  day-day-day ^  as  they  inquisitively  hop  nearer 
and  nearer  to  me.  They  are  our  most  honest  and  inno- 
cent little  bird,  drawing  yet  nearer  to  us  as  the  winter 
advances,  and  deserve  best  of  any  of  the  walker. 

Feb.  9,  1854.  I  do  not  hear  Therien's*  axe  far  of  late. 
The  moment  I  came  on  his  chopping-ground,  the  chick- 
adees flew  to  me,  as  if  glad  to  see  me.  They  are  a  pecul- 
iarly honest  and  sociable  little  bird.  I  saw  them  go  to 
his  pail  repeatedly  and  peck  his  bread  and  butter.  They 
came  and  went  a  dozen  times  while  I  stood  there.  He 
said  that  a  great  flock  of  them  came  round  him  the  other 
day  while  he  was  eating  his  dinner  and  lit  on  his  clothes 
"just  like  flies."  One  roosted  on  his  finger,  and  another 
pecked  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  hand.  They  are  consid- 
erable company  for  the  woodchopper.  I  heard  one  wiry 
phe-he.  They  love  to  hop  about  wood  freshly  split.  Ap- 
parently they  do  not  leave  his  clearing  all  day.  They 
were  not  scared  when  he  threw  down  wood  within  a  few 
feet  of  them.  When  I  looked  to  see  how  much  of  his 
bread  and  butter  they  had  eaten,  I  did  not  perceive  that 
any  was  gone.  He  could  afford  to  dine  a  hundred. 

Jan.  7,  1855.  Here  comes  a  little  flock  of  titmice, 
plainly  to  keep  me  company,  with  their  black  caps  and 

^  [Aleck  Therien,  the  French-Canadian  ■woodchopper  celebrated  in 

Walden.] 


CHICKADEE  371 

throats  making  them  look  top-heavy,  restlessly  hopping 
along  the  alders,  with  a  sharp,  clear,  lisping  note. 

Dec.  15,  1855.  This  morning  it  has  begun  to  snow 
apparently  in  earnest.  The  air  is  quite  thick  and  the 
view  confined.  It  is  quite  still,  yet  some  flakes  come 
down  from  one  side  and  some  from  another,  crossing 
each  other  like  woof  and  warp  apparently,  as  they  are 
falling  in  different  eddies  and  currents  of  air.  In  the 
midst  of  it,  I  hear  and  see  a  few  little  chickadees  prying 
about  the  twigs  of  the  locusts  in  the  graveyard.  They 
have  come  into  town  with  the  snow.  They  now  and  then 
break  forth  into  a  short,  sweet  strain,  and  then  seem 
suddenly  to  check  themselves,  as  if  they  had  done  it  be- 
fore they  thought. 

June  3, 1856.  While  running  a  line  in  the  woods, 
close  to  the  water,  on  the  southwest  side  of  Loring's 
Pond,  I  observed  a  chickadee  sitting  quietly  within  a 
few  feet.  Suspecting  a  nest,  I  looked  and  found  it  in  a 
small  hollow  maple  stump  which  was  about  five  inches 
in  diameter  and  two  feet  high.  I  looked  down  about 
a  foot  and  could  just  discern  the  eggs.  Breaking  off  a 
little,  I  managed  to  get  my  hand  in  and  took  out  some 
eggs.  There  were  seven,  making  by  their  number  an 
unusual  figure  as  they  lay  in  the  nest,  a  sort  of  ^gg  ro- 
sette, a  circle  around  with  one  (or  more)  in  the  middle. 
In  the  meanwhile  the  bird  sat  silent,  though  rather  rest- 
less, within  three  feet.  The  nest  was  very  thick  and 
warm,  of  average  depth,  and  made  of  the  bluish-slate 
rabbit's  (?)  fur.  The  eggs  were  a  perfect  oval,  five 
eighths  inch  long,  white  with  small  reddish-brown  or 
rusty  spots,  especially  about  larger  end,  partly  devel- 


372     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

oped.  The  bird  sat  on  the  remaining  eggs  next  day.  I 
called  off  the  boy  in  another  direction  that  he  might 
not  find  it. 

Oct.  17,  1856.  As  I  stood  looking  at  Emerson's 
bound  under  the  railroad  embankment,  I  heard  a  smart 
tche-day-day-day  close  to  my  ear,  and,  looking  up,  saw 
four  of  these  birds,  which  had  come  to  scrape  acquaint- 
ance with  me,  hopping  amid  the  alders  within  three  and 
four  feet  of  me.  I  had  heard  them  further  off  at  first, 
and  they  had  followed  me  along  the  hedge.  They  day- 
day'di  and  lisped  their  faint  notes  alternately,  and  then, 
as  if  to  make  me  think  they  had  some  other  errand  than  to 
peer  at  me,  they  pecked  the  dead  twigs  with  their  bills,  — 
the  little  top-heavy,  black-crowned,  volatile  fellows. 

Dec.  3,  1856.  Six  weeks  ago  I  noticed  the  advent  of 
chickadees  and  their  winter  habits.  As  you  walk  along 
a  wood-side,  a  restless  little  flock  of  them,  whose  notes 
you  hear  at  a  distance,  will  seem  to  say,  "  Oh,  there  he 
goes !  Let 's  pay  our  respects  to  him."  And  they  will 
flit  after  and  close  to  you,  and  naively  peck  at  the  near- 
est twig  to  you,  as  if  they  were  minding  their  own  busi- 
ness all  the  while  without  any  reference  to  you. 

Nov.  8, 1857.  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  that  sweet 
word  is  which  the  chickadee  says  when  it  hops  near  to 
me  now  in  those  ravines. 

Ifarch  21,  1858.  Standing  by  the  mud-hole  in  the 
swamp,  I  hear  the  pleasant  phebe  note  of  the  chickadee. 
It  is,  methinks,  the  most  of  a  wilderness  note  of  any 
yet.  It  is  peculiarly  interesting  that  this,  which  is  one 
of  our  winter  birds  also,  should  have  a  note  with  which 
to  welcome  the  spring. 


CHICKADEE  373 

Nov.  7,  1858.  We  are  left  to  the  chickadee's  familiar 
notes,  and  the  jay  for  trumpeter.  What  struck  me  was 
a  certain  emptiness  beyond,  between  the  hemlocks  and 
the  hill,  in  the  cool,  washed  air,  as  if  I  appreciated  even 
here  the  absence  of  insects  from  it.  It  suggested  agree- 
ably to  me  a  mere  space  in  which  to  walk  briskly.  The 
fields  are  bleak,  and  they  are,  as  it  were,  vacated.  The 
very  earth  is  like  a  house  shut  up  for  the  winter,  and  I 
go  knocking  about  it  in  vain.  But  just  then  I  heard  a 
chickadee  on  a  hemlock,  and  was  inexpressibly  cheered 
to  find  that  an  old  acquaintance  was  yet  stirring 
about  the  premises,  and  was,  I  was  assured,  to  be 
there  all  winter.  All  that  is  evergreen  in  me  revived 
at  once. 

Dec.  28,  1858.  I  notice  a  few  chickadees  there  in  the 
edge  of  the  pines,  in  the  sun,  lisping  and  twittering 
cheerfully  to  one  another,  with  a  reference  to  me,  I 
think,  —  the  cunning  and  innocent  little  birds.  One  a 
little  further  off  utters  the  phoebe  note.  There  is  a  foot 
more  or  less  of  clear  open  water  at  the  edge  here,  and, 
seeing  this,  one  of  these  birds  hops  down  as  if  glad  to 
find  any  open  water  at  this  season,  and,  after  drinking, 
it  stands  in  the  water  on  a  stone  up  to  its  belly  and  dips 
its  head  and  flirts  the  water  about  vigorously,  giving 
itself  a  good  washing.  I  had  not  suspected  this  at  this 
season.  No  fear  that  it  will  catch  cold. 

Oct.  15,  1859.  The  chickadees  sing  as  if  at  home. 
They  are  not  travelling  singers  hired  by  any  Barnum.' 
Theirs  is  an  honest,  homely,  heartfelt  melody.  Shall  not 

1  [Jenny  Lind  made  her  American  tour  under  an  engagement  with 
P.  T.  Bamum  in  1850-1851.] 


374     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIKDS 

the  voice  of  man  express  as  much  content  as  the  note  of 
a  bird? 

Nov.  26,  1859.  The  chickadee  is  the  bird  of  the  wood 
the  most  unfailing.  When,  in  a  windy,  or  in  any,  day, 
you  have  penetrated  some  thick  wood  like  this,  you  are 
pretty  sure  to  hear  its  cheery  note  therein.  At  this  sea- 
son it  is  almost  their  sole  inhabitant. 

Dec.  12,  1859.  Seeing  a  little  hole  in  the  side  of  a 
dead  white  birch,  about  six  feet  from  the  ground,  I 
broke  it  off  and  found  it  to  be  made  where  a  rotten  limb 
had  broken  off.  The  hole  was  about  an  inch  over  and 
was  of  quite  irregular  and  probably  natural  outline, 
and,  within,  the  rotten  wood  had  been  removed  to  the 
depth  of  two  or  three  inches,  and  on  one  side  of  this 
cavity,  under  the  hole,  was  quite  a  pile  of  bird-drop- 
pings. The  diameter  of  the  birch  was  little  more  than 
two  inches,  —  if  at  all.  Probably  it  was  the  roosting- 
place  of  a  chickadee.  The  bottom  was  an  irregular  sur- 
face of  the  rotten  wood,  and  there  was  nothing  like  a  nest. 

Jan.  12,  1860.  As  I  stand  by  the  hemlocks,  I  am 
greeted  by  the  lively  and  unusually  prolonged  tche  de 
de  de  de  de  of  a  little  flock  of  chickadees.  The  snow 
has  ceased  falling,  the  sun  comes  out,  and  it  is  warm 
and  still,  and  this  flock  of  chickadees,  little  birds  that 
perchance  were  born  in  their  midst,  feeling  the  influ- 
ences of  this  genial  season,  have  begun  to  flit  amid  the 
snow-covered  fans  of  the  hemlocks,  jarring  down -the 
snow,  —  for  there  are  hardly  bare  twigs  enough  for 
them  to  rest  on,  —  or  they  plume  themselves  in  some 
snug  recess  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  tree,  only  pausing 
to  utter  their  tche  de  de  de. 


CHICKADEE  876 

Jan.  18,  1860.  Standing  under  Lee's  Cliff,  several 
chickadees,  uttering  their  faint  notes,  come  flitting  near 
to  me  as  usual.  They  are  busily  prying  under  the  bark 
of  the  pitch  pines,  occasionally  knocking  off  a  piece, 
while  they  cling  with  their  claws  on  any  side  of  the 
limb.  Of  course  they  are  in  search  of  animal  food,  but 
I  see  one  suddenly  dart  down  to  a  seedless  pine  seed 
wing  on  the  snow,  and  then  up  again.  C*  says  that  he 
saw  them  busy  about  these  wings  on  the  snow  the  other 
day,  so  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  eat  this  seed. 

Jan.  20, 1860,  The  snow  and  ice  under  the  hemlocks 
is  strewn  with  cones  and  seeds  and  tracked  with  birds 
and  squirrels.  What  a  bountiful  supply  of  winter  food 
is  here  provided  for  them !  No  sooner  has  fresh  snow 
fallen  and  covered  up  the  old  crop  than  down  comes  a 
new  supply  all  the  more  distinct  on  the  spotless  snow. 
Here  comes  a  little  flock  of  chickadees,  attracted  by  me 
as  usual,  and  perching  close  by  boldly;  then,  descending 
to  the  snow  and  ice,  I  see  them  pick  up  the  hemlock 
seed  which  lies  all  around  them.  Occasionally  they  take 
one  to  a  twig  and  hammer  at  it  there  under  their  claws, 
perhaps  to  separate  it  from  the  wing,  or  even  the  shell. 
The  snowy  ice  and  the  snow  on  shore  have  been  black- 
ened with  these  fallen  cones  several  times  over  this 
winter.  The  snow  along  the  sides  of  the  river  is  also  all 
dusted  over  with  birch  and  alder  seed,  and  I  see  where 
little  birds  have  picked  up  the  alder  seed. 

\_See  also  under  White-bellied  Nuthatch,  p.  367 ; 
General  and  Miscellaneous,  p.  404.] 

1  [W.  E.  Channing.] 


376    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

RUBY-CROWNED   KINGLET 

April  25,  1854.  Saw  a  golden-crested  wren  *  in  the 
woods  near  Goose  Pond.  It  sounded  far  off  and  like  an 
imitation  of  a  robin,^  —  a  long  strain  and  often  repeated. 
I  was  quite  near  it  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  it  sounding 
still  like  a  faint  imitation  of  a  robin.  Some  chickadees 
and  yellow  redpolls  were  first  apparent,  then  my  wren 
on  the  pitch  pines  and  young  oaks.  He  appeared  curi- 
ous to  observe  me.  A  very  interesting  and  active  little 
fellow,  darting  about  amid  the  tree-tops,  and  his  song 
quite  remarkable  and  rich  and  loud  for  his  size.  Begins 
with  a  very  fine  note,  before  its  pipes  are  filled,  not 
audible  at  a  little  distance,  then  woriter  weter,  etc.,  etc., 
winding  up  with  teter  teter,  all  clear  and  round.-'  This 
was  at  4  p.  M.,  when  most  birds  do  not  sing.  I  saw  it 
yesterday,  pluming  itself  and  stretching  its  little  wings. 

1  ["  Golden  "  crossed  out  in  pencil  and  "  ruby  "  substituted.] 

2  And  of  a  golden  robin,  wbich  later  I  often  mistook  for  him. 
^  His  song  is  comical  and  reminds  me  of  the  thrasher. 


XXI 

THRUSHES 

WOOD   THRUSH^ 

July  27,  1840.  The  wood  thrush  is  a  more  modern 
philosopher  than  Plato  and  Aristotle.  They  are  now  a 
dogma,  but  he  preaches  the  doctrine  of  this  hour. 

May  31,  1850.  There  is  a  sweet  wild  world  which 
lies  along  the  strain  of  the  wood  thrush  —  the  rich 
intervales  which  border  the  stream  of  its  sonjr  —  more 
thoroughly  genial  to  my  nature  than  any  other. 

June  22,  1851.  I  hear  around  me,  but  never  in  sight, 
the  many  wood  thrushes  whetting  their  steel-like  notes. 
Such  keen  singers  !  It  takes  a  fiery  heat,  many  dry  pine 
leaves  added  to  the  furnace  of  the  sun,  to  temper  their 
strains !  Always  they  are  either  rising  or  falling  to  a  new 
strain.  After  what  a  moderate  pause  they  deliver  them- 
selves again !  saying  ever  a  new  thing,  avoiding  repetition, 
methinks  answering  one  another.  While  most  other  birds 
take  their  siesta,  the  wood  thrush  discharges  his  song. 
It  is  delivered  like  a  bolas,  or  a  piece  of  jingling  steel. 

^  [The  hermit  thrush  as  well  as  the  wood  thrush  breeds  in  Concord, 
but  Thoreau  never  learned  to  distinguish  between  the  songs  of  the  two 
species  and  they  were  all  wood  thrushes  to  him.  In  the  White  Moun- 
tains and  the  Maine  woods  he  mistook  the  olive-backed  thrusli  also  for 
the  wood  thrush.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  some  of  the  observations  in- 
cluded under  this  head  belong  of  right  to  the  hermit  thrush,  but  oa 
they  would  apply  equally  well  to  the  wood  thrush  they  are  retained 
here  without  question.  Those  that  from  the  date  or  some  other  evi- 
%    dence  clearly  refer  to  the  hermit  are  placed  under  that  species.] 


378     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

July  21, 1851.  Never  yet  did  I  chance  to  sit  in  a  house, 
except  my  own  house  in  the  woods,  and  hear  a  wood 
thrush  sing.  Would  it  not  be  well  to  sit  in  such  a  cham- 
ber within  sound  of  the  finest  songster  of  the  grove? 

Aug.  12,  1851.  The  birds  utter  a  few  languid  and 
yawning  notes,  as  if  they  had  not  left  their  perches,  so 
sensible  to  light  to  wake  so  soon,  —  a  faint  peeping 
sound  from  I  know  not  what  kind,  a  slight,  innocent, 
half-awake  sound,  like  the  sounds  which  a  quiet  house- 
wife makes  in  the  earliest  dawn.  Nature  preserves  her 
innocence  like  a  beautiful  child.  I  hear  a  wood  thrush 
even  now,  long  before  sunrise,  as  in  the  heat  of  the  day. 
And  the  pewee  and  the  catbird  and  the  vireo  (red- 
eyed?).  I  do  not  hear — or  do  not  mind,  perchance — 
the  crickets  now.  Now  whip-poor-wills  commence  to 
sing  in  earnest,  considerably  after  the  wood  thrush.  The 
wood  thrush,  that  beautiful  singer,  inviting  the  day  once 
more  to  enter  his  pine  woods.  (So  you  may  hear  the 
wood  thrush  and  whip-poor-will  at  the  same  time.)  Now 
go  by  two  whip-poor-wills,  in  haste  seeking  some  coverts 
from  the  eye  of  day.  And  the  bats  are  flying  about  on 
the  edge  of  the  wood,  improving  the  last  moments  of  their 
day  in  catching  insects.  The  moon  appears  at  length,  not 
yet  as  a  cloud,  but  with  a  frozen  light,  ominous  of  her 
fate.  The  early  cars  sound  like  a  wind  in  the  woods.  The 
chewinks  make  a  business  now  of  waking  each  other  up 
with  their  low  yorrick  in  the  neighboring  low  copse. 

June  23,  1852.  The  wood  thrush  sings  at  all  hours. 
I  associate  it  with  the  cool  morning,  sultry  noon,  and 
serene  evening.  At  this  hour  ^  it  suggests  a  cool  vigor. 

^  [Early  morning.] 


WOOD   THRUSH  379 

July  5,  1852.  Some  birds  are  poets  and  sing  all 
summer.  They  are  the  true  singers.  Any  man  can  write 
verses  during  the  love  season.  I  am  reminded  of  this 
while  we  rest  in  the  shade  on  the  Major  Heywood  road 
and  listen  to  a  wood  thrush,  now  just  before  sunset. 
We  are  most  interested  in  those  birds  who  sing  for  the 
love  of  the  music  and  not  of  their  mates  ;  who  meditate 
their  strains,  and  amuse  themselves  with  singing ;  the 
birds,  the  strains,  of  deeper  sentiment ;  not  bobolinks, 
that  lose  their  plumage,  their  bright  colors,  and  their 
song  so  early.  The  robin,  the  red-eye,  the  veery,  the 
wood  thrush,  etc.,  etc. 

The  wood  thrush's  is  no  opera  music  ;  it  is  not  so 
much  the  composition  as  the  strain,  the  tone,  —  cool 
bars  of  melody  from  the  atmosphere  of  everlasting 
morning  or  evening.  It  is  the  quality  of  the  song,  not 
the  sequence.  In  the  peawai's  *  note  there  is  some  sul- 
triness, but  in  the  thrush's,  though  heard  at  noon,  there 
is  the  liquid  coolness  of  things  that  are  just  drawn 
from  the  bottom  of  springs.  The  thrush  alone  declares 
the  immortal  wealth  and  vigor  that  is  in  the  forest. 
Here  is  a  bird  in  whose  strain  the  story  is  told,  though 
Nature  waited  for  the  science  of  aesthetics  to  discover 
it  to  man.  Whenever  a  man  hears  it,  he  is  young,  and 
Nature  is  in  her  spring.  Wherever  he  hears  it,  it  is 
a  new  world  and  a  free  country,  and  the  gates  of  heaven 
'are  not  shut  against  him.  Most  other  birds  sing  from 
the  level  of  my  ordinary  cheerful  hours  —  a  carol ;  but 
this  bird  never  fails  to  speak  to  me  out  of  an  ether 
purer  than  that  I  breathe,  of   immortal  beauty   and 

^  [The  wood  pewee.] 


380     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

vigor.  He  deepens  the  significance  of  all  things  seen  in 
the  light  of  his  strain.  He  sings  to  make  men  take 
higher  and  truer  views  of  things.  He  sings  to  amend 
their  institutions ;  to  relieve  the  slave  on  the  plantation 
and  the  prisoner  in  his  dungeon,  the  slave  in  the  house 
of  luxury  and  the  prisoner  of  his  own  low  thoughts. 

July  27,  1852.  How  cool  and  assuaging  the  thrush's 
note  after  the  fever  of  the  day !  I  doubt  if  they  have 
anything  so  richly  wild  in  Europe.  So  long  a  civiliza- 
tion must  have  banished  it.  It  will  only  be  heard  in 
America,  perchance,  while  our  star  is  in  the  ascendant. 
I  should  be  very  much  surprised  if  I  were  to  hear  in 
the  strain  of  the  nightingale  such  unexplored  wildness 
and  fertility,  reaching  to  sundown,  inciting  to  emigra- 
tion. Such  a  bird  must  itself  have  emigrated  long  ago. 
Why,  then,  was  I  born  in  America?  I  might  ask. 

May  17,  1853.  The  wood  thrush  has  sung  for  some 
time.  He  touches  a  depth  in  me  which  no  other  bird's 
song  does.  He  has  learned  to  sing,  and  no  thrumming 
of  the  strings  or  tuning  disturbs  you.  Other  birds  may 
whistle  pretty  well,  but  he  is  the  master  of  a  finer- 
toned  instrument.  His  song  is  musical,  not  from  associa- 
tion merely,  not  from  variety,  but  the  character  of  its 
tone.  It  is  all  divine, —  a  Shakespeare  among  birds, 
and  a  Homer  too. 

June  12,  1853.  The  note  of  the  wood  thrush  answers 
to  some  cool,  unexhausted  morning  vigor  in  the  hearer. 

June  14,  1853.  The  wood  thrush  launches  forth  his 
evening  strains  from  the  midst  of  the  pines.  I  admire 
the  moderation  of  this  master.  There  is  nothing  tumul- 
tuous in  his  song.  He  launches  forth  one  strain  with  all 


WOOD  THRUSH  381 

his  heart  and  life  and  soul,  of  pure  and  unmatchable 
melody,  and  then  he  pauses  and  gives  the  hearer  and 
himself  time  to  digest  this,  and  then  another  and  another 
at  suitable  intervals.  Men  talk  of  the  rich  song  of  other 
birds,  —  the  thrasher,  mockingbird,  nightingale.  But 
I  doubt,  I  doubt.  They  know  not  what  they  say !  There 
is  as  great  an  interval  between  the  thrasher  and  the 
wood  thrush  as  between  Thomson's  "  Seasons "  and 
Homer.  The  sweetness  of  the  day  crystallizes  in  this 
morning  coolness. 

June  22,  1853.  As  I  come  over  the  hill,  I  hear  the 
wood  thrush  singing  his  evening  lay.  This  is  the  only 
bird  whose  note  affects  me  like  music,  affects  the  flow 
and  tenor  of  my  thought,  my  fancy  and  imagination. 
It  lifts  and  exhilarates  me.  It  is  inspiring.  It  is  a  med- 
icative draught  to  my  soul.  It  is  an  elixir  to  my  eyes 
and  a  fountain  of  youtli  to  all  my  senses.  It  changes  all 
hours  to  an  eternal  morning.  It  banishes  all  trivialness. 
It  reinstates  me  in  my  dominion,  makes  me  the  lord  of 
creation,  is  chief  musician  of  my  court.  This  minstrel 
sings  in  a  time,  a  heroic  age,  with  which  no  event  in 
the  village  can  be  contemporary.  How  can  they  be  con- 
temporary when  only  the  latter  is  temporary  at  all? 
How  can  the  infinite  and  eternal  be  contemporary  with 
the  finite  and  temporal?  So  there  is  something  in  the 
music  of  the  cow-bell,  something  sweeter  and  more 
nutritious,  than  in  the  milk  which  the  farmers  drink. 
This  thrush's  song  is  a  ranz  des  vetches  to  me.  I  long 
for  wildness,  a  nature  which  I  cannot  put  my  foot 
through,  woods  where  the  wood  thrush  forever  sings, 
where  the  hours  are  early  morning  ones,  and  there  is 


382     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

dew  on  the  grass,  and  the  day  is  forever  unproved, 
where  I  might  have  a  fertile  unknown  for  a  soil  about 
me.  I  would  go  after  the  cows,  I  would  watch  the  flocks 
of  Admetus  there  forever,  only  for  my  board  and 
clothes.  A  New  Hampshire  everlasting  and  unfallen. 

All  that  was  ripest  and  fairest  in  the  wilderness  and 
the  wild  man  is  preserved  and  transmitted  to  us  in 
the  strain  of  the  wood  thrush.  It  is  the  mediator  be- 
tween barbarism  and  civilization.  It  is  unrepentant  as 
Greece. 

Dec.  31,  1853.  There  are  a  few  sounds  still  which 
never  fail  to  affect  me.  The  notes  of  the  wood  thrush 
and  the  sound  of  a  vibrating  chord,  these  affect  me  as 
many  sounds  once  did  often,  and  as  almost  all  should. 
The  strains  of  the  seolian  harp  and  of  the  wood  thrush 
are  the  truest  and  loftiest  preachers  that  I  know  now 
left  on  this  earth.  I  know  of  no  missionaries  to  us  hea- 
then comparable  to  them.  They,  as  it  were,  lift  us  up 
in  spite  of  ourselves.    They  intoxicate,  they  charm  us. 

May  28,  1855.  While  we  sit  by  the  path  in  the 
depths  of  the  woods  three  quarters  of  a  mile  beyond 
Hayden's,  confessing  the  influence  of  almost  the  first 
summer  warmth,  the  wood  thrush  sings  steadily  for  half 
an  hour,  now  at  2.30  p.  m.,  amid  the  pines,  —  loud  and 
clear  and  sweet.  While  other  birds  are  warbling  between- 
whiles  and  catching  their  prey,  he  alone  appears  to 
make  a  business  of  singing,  like  a  true  minstrel. 

July  31,  1858.  Got  the  wood  thrush's  nest  of  June 
19th  (now  empty).  It  was  placed  between  many  small 
upright  shoots,  against  the  main  stem  of  the  slender 


WOOD  THRUSH  383 

maple,  and  measures  four  and  a  half  to  five  Inches  in 
diameter  from  outside  to  outside  of  the  rim,  and  on6 
and  three  quarters  deep  within.  It  is  quite  firm  (except 
the  external  leaves  falling  off),  the  rim  about  three 
quarters  of  an  inch  thick,  and  it  is  composed  externally 
of  leaves,  apparently  chiefly  chestnut,  very  much  de- 
cayed, beneath  which,  in  the  place  of  the  grass  and 
stubble  of  which  most  nests  are  composed,  are  appar- 
ently the  midribs  of  the  same  leaves,  whose  whole  pulp, 
etc.,  is  gone,  arranged  as  compactly  and  densely  (in 
a  curving  manner)  as  grass  or  stubble  could  be,  upon  a 
core,  not  of  mud,  but  a  pale-brown  composition  quite 
firm  and  smooth  (within),  looking  like  inside  of  a  cocoa- 
nut-shell,  and  apparently  composed  of  decayed  leaf 
pulp  (?),  which  the  bird  has  perhaps  mixed  and  ce- 
mented with  its  saliva.  This  is  about  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  thick  and  about  as  regular  as  a  half  of  a  cocoanut- 
shell.  Within  this,  the  lower  part  is  lined  with  consider- 
able rather  coarse  black  root-fibre  and  a  very  little  fine 
stubble.  From  some  particles  of  fine  white  sand,  etc., 
on  the  pale-brown  composition  of  the  nest,  I  thought  it 
was  obtained  from  the  pond  shore.  This  composition, 
viewed  through  a  microscope,  has  almost  a  cellular 
structure. 

Aiig.  9,  1858.  The  wood  thrush's  was  a  peculiarly 
woodland  nest,  made  solely  of  such  materials  as  that 
unfrequented  grove  afforded,  the  refuse  of  the  wood  or 
shore  of  the  pond.  There  was  no  horsehair,  no  twine 
nor  paper  nor  other  relics  of  art  in  it. 

\_See  also  under  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp. 
404,  427.] 


384     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

veery;  Wilson's  thrush 

June  19,  1853.  In  the  middle  of  the  path  to  Wharf 
Rock  at  Flint's  Pond,  the  nest  of  a  Wilson's  thrush, 
five  or  six  inches  high,  between  the  green  stems  of  three 
or  four  golden-rods,  made  of  dried  grass  or  fibres  of 
bark,  with  dry  oak  leaves  attached  loosely,  making  the 
whole  nine  or  ten  inches  wide,  to  deceive  the  eye.  Two 
blue  eggs.  Like  an  accidental  heap.  Who  taught  it  to 
do  thus? 

HERMIT   THRUSH  ^ 

June,  15,  1851.  I  sit  in  the  shade  of  the  pines  to  hear 
a  wood  thrush  at  noon.  The  ground  smells  of  dry  leaves ; 
the  heat  is  oppressive.  The  bird  begins  on  a  low  strain, 
i.  e.  it  first  delivers  a  strain  on  a  lower  key,  then  a 
moment  after  another  a  little  higher,  then  another  still 
varied  from  the  others,  —  no  two  successive  strains 
alike,  but  either  ascending  or  descending.^  He  confines 
himself  to  his  few  notes,  in  'which  he  is  unrivalled,  as 
if  his  kind  had  learned  this  and  no  more  anciently. 

April  30,  1852.  I  hear  a  wood  thrush  ^  here,  with  a 
fine  metallic  ring  to  his  note.  This  sound  most  ade- 
quately expresses  the  immortal  beauty  and  wildness  of 
the  woods.  I  go  in  search  of  him.  He  sounds  no  nearer. 

^  [See  note  to  wood  thrush,  p.  377.  The  hermit  thrush  was  a  rare 
bird  to  Thoreau.  He  detected  it  occasionally  in  spring  and  autumn,  but 
he  seems  never  to  have  suspected  that  it  was  a  regular  summer  resident 
in  Concord  and  that  he  had  often  listened  to  its  song.] 

^  [The  song  described  seems  to  be  that  of  the  hermit  thrush.] 
'  [Thoreau's  April  and    very  early  May  wood  thrushes  were  all 
doubtless  hermit  thrushes.] 


HERMIT  THRUSH  385 

On  a  low  bougli  of  a  small  maple  near  the  brook  in  the 
swamp,  he  sits  with  ruffled  feathers,  singing  more  low 
or  with  less  power,  as  it  were  ventriloquizing ;  for  though 
I  am  scarcely  more  than  a  rod  off,  he  seems  further  off 
than  ever. 

May  1,  1852.  I  hear  the  first  catbird  also,  mewing, 
and  the  wood  thrush,  which  still  thrills  me,  —  a  sound 
to  be  heard  in  a  new  country,  —  from  one  side  of  a 
clearing. 

May  3,  1852.  The  wood  thrush  reminds  me  of  cool 
mountain  springs  and  morning  walks. 

April  27, 1854.  The  wood  thrush  afar,  —  so  superior 
a  strain  to  that  of  other  birds.  I  was  doubting  if  it 
would  affect  me  as  of  yore,  but  it  did  measurably.  I  did 
not  believe  there  could  be  such  differences.  This  is  the 
gospel  according  to  the  wood  thrush.  He  makes  a  sab- 
bath out  of  a  week-day.  I  could  go  to  hear  him,  could 
buy  a  pew  in  his  church.  Did  he  ever  practice  pulpit 
eloquence  ?  He  is  right  on  the  slavery  question. 

Aiwil  21,  1855.  At  Cliffs,  I  hear  at  a  distance  a  wood 
thrush.  It  affects  us  as  a  part  of  our  unfallen  selves. 

June,  22,  1856.  R.  W.  E.  imitates  the  wood  thrush 
by  he  willy  willy  —  ha  willy  willy  —  0  willy  0. 

[^See  also  under  Nighthawk,  p.  209.] 

AMERICAN    ROBIN 

March  26,  1846.  The  change  from  foul  weather  to 
fair,  from  dark,  sluggish  hours  to  serene,  elastic  ones, 
is  a  memorable  crisis  which  all  things  proclaim.  The 
change  from  foulness  to  serenity  is  instantaneous.  Sud- 
denly an  influx  of  light,  though  it  was  late,  filled  my 


386     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

room.  I  looked  out  and  saw  that  the  pond  was  already 
calm  and  full  of  hope  as  on  a  summer  evening,  though 
the  ice  was  dissolved  but  yesterday.  There  seemed  to 
be  some  intelligence  in  the  pond  which  responded  to  the 
unseen  serenity  in  a  distant  horizon.  I  heard  a  robin 
in  the  distance,  —  the  first  I  had  heard  this  spring,  — 
repeating  the  assurance.  The  green  pitch  pine  sud- 
denly looked  brighter  and  more  erect,  as  if  now  entirely 
washed  and  cleansed  by  the  rain.  I  knew  it  would  not 
rain  any  more.  A  serene  summer-evening  sky  seemed 
darkly  reflected  in  the  pond,  though  the  clear  sky  was 
nowhere  visible  overhead.  It  was  no  longer  the  end  of 
a  season,  but  the  beginning.  The  pines  and  shrub 
oaks,  which  had  before  drooped  and  cowered  the  winter 
through  with  myself,  now  recovered  their  several  char- 
acters and  in  the  landscape  revived  the  expression  of  an 
immortal  beauty.  Trees  seemed  all  at  once  to  be  fitly 
grouped,  to  sustain  new  relations  to  men  and  to  one 
another.  There  was  somewhat  cosmical  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  nature.  O  the  evening  robin,  at  the  close  of 
a  New  England  day !  If  I  could  ever  find  the  twig  he 
sits  upon!  Where  does  the  minstrel  really  roost?  We 
perceive  it  is  not  the  bird  of  the  ornithologist  that  is 
heard,  —  the  Turdus  migratorius. 

July  27,  1851.  After  taking  the  road  by  Webster's^ 
beyond  South  Marshfield,  I  walked  a  long  way  at  noon, 
hot  and  thirsty,  before  I  could  find  a  suitable  place  to 
sit  and  eat  my  dinner,  —  a  place  where  the  shade  and 
the  sward  pleased  me.  At  length  I  was  obliged  to  put 
up  with  a  small  shade  close  to  the  ruts,  where  the  only 
^  [Daniel  Webster's  house  at  Marshfield,  Mass.] 


AMERICAN   ROBIN  387 

stream  I  had  seen  for  some  time  crossed  the  road.  Here, 
also,  numerous  robins  came  to  cool  and  wash  them- 
selves and  to  drink.  They  stood  in  the  water  up  to  their 
bellies,  from  time  to  time  wetting  their  wings  and  tails 
and  also  ducking  their  heads  and  sprinkling  the  water 
over  themselves ;  then  they  sat  on  a  fence  near  by  to  dry. 
Then  a  goldfinch  came  and  did  the  same,  accompanied 
by  the  less  brilliant  female.  These  birds  evidently  en- 
joyed their  bath  greatly,  and  it  seemed  indispensable 
to  them. 

April  1,  1852.  I  hear  a  robin  singing  in  the  woods 
south  of  Hosmer's,  just  before  sunset.  It  is  a  sound  as- 
sociated with  New  England  village  life.  It  brings  to 
my  thoughts  summer  evenings  when  the  children  are 
playing  in  the  yards  before  the  doors  and  their  parents 
conversing  at  the  open  windows.  It  foretells  all  this 
now,  before  those  summer  hours  are  come. 

April  11,  1852.  The  song  of  a  robin  on  an  oak  in 
Hubbard's  Grove  sounds  far  ofiF.  So  I  have  heard  a 
robin  within  three  feet  in  a  cage  in  a  dark  barroom  (how 
unstained  by  all  the  filth  of  that  place  ?)  with  a  kind 
of  ventriloquism  so  singing  that  his  song  sounded  far 
off  on  the  elms.  It  was  more 'pathetic  still  for  this. 
The  robins  are  singing  now  on  all  hands  while  the  sun 
is  setting.  At  what  an  expense  any  valuable  work  is  per- 
formed !  At  the  expense  of  a  life !  If  you  do  one  thing 
well,  what  else  are  you  good  for  in  the  meanwhile  ? 

April  13,  1852.  The  robin  is  the  only  bird  as  yet 
that  makes  a  business  of  singing,  steadily  singing,  — 
sings  continuously  out  of  pure  joy  and  melody  of  soul, 
carols.  The  jingle  of  the  song  sparrow,  simple  and 


388     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

sweet  as  it  is,  is  not  of  sufficient  volume  nor  sufficiently 
continuous  to  command  and  hold  attention,  and  the 
bluebird's  is  but  a  transient  warble,  from  a  throat  over- 
flowing with  azure  and  serene  hopes ;  but  the  song  of 
the  robin  on  the  elms  or  oaks,  loud  and  clear  and  heard 
afar  through  the  streets  of  a  village,  makes  a  fit  con- 
clusion to  a  spring  day.  The  larks  are  not  yet  in  suf- 
ficient numbers  or  sufficiently  musical.  The  robin  is 
the  prime  singer  as  yet.  The  blackbird's  congweree,  when 
first  heard  in  the  spring,  is  pleasant  from  the  associa- 
tions it  awakens,  and  is  best  heard  by  one  boating  on 
the  river.  It  belongs  to  the  stream.  The  robin  is  the 
only  bird  with  whose  song  the  groves  can  be  said  to 
be  now  vocal  morning  and  evening,  for,  though  many 
other  notes  are  heard,  none  fill  the  air  like  this  bird. 
As  yet  no  other  thrushes. 

April  21,  1852.  On  the  east  side  of  Ponkawtasset  I 
hear  a  robin  singing  cheerily  from  some  perch  in  the 
wood,  in  the  midst  of  the  rain,  where  the  scenery  is 
now  wild  and  dreary.  His  song  a  singular  antagonism 
and  offset  to  the  storm.  As  if  Nature  said, "  Have  faith ; 
these  two  things  I  can  do."  It  sings  with  power,  like  a 
bird  of  great  faith  thai  sees  the  bright  future  through 
the  dark  present,  to  reassure  the  race  of  man,  like  one 
to  whom  many  talents  were  given  and  who  will  improve 
its  talents.  They  are  sounds  to  make  a  dying  man  live. 
They  sing  not  their  despair.  It  is  a  pure,  immortal 
melody. 

The  birds  are  singing  in  the  rain  about  the  small 
pond  in  front,  the  inquisitive  chickadee  that  has  flown 


AMERICAN   ROBIN  389 

at  once  to  the  alders  to  reconnoitre  us,  the  blackbirds, 
the  song  sparrow,  telling  of  expanding  buds.  But  above 
all  the  robin  sings  here  too,  I  know  not  at  what  dis- 
tance in  the  wood.  "  Did  he  sing  thus  in  Indian  days  ?" 
I  ask  myself ;  for  I  have  always  associated  this  sound 
with  the  village  and  the  clearing,  but  now  I  do  detect 
the  aboriginal  wildness  in  his  strain,  and  can  im- 
agine him  a  woodland  bird,  and  that  he  sang  thus  when 
there  was  no  civilized  ear  to  hear  him,  a  pure  forest 
melody  even  like  the  wood  thrush.  Every  genuine  thing 
retains  this  wild  tone,  which  no  true  culture  displaces. 
I  heard  him  even  as  he  might  have  sounded  to  the 
Indian,  singing  at  evening  upon  the  elm  above  his 
wigwam,  with  which  was  associated  in  the  red  man's 
mind  the  events  of  an  Indian's  life,  his  childhood. 
Formerly  I  had  heard  in  it  only  those  strains  which 
tell  of  the  white  man's  village  life ;  now  I  heard  those 
strains  which  remembered  the  red  man's  life,  such  as 
fell  on  the  ears  of  Indian  children,  —  as  he  sang  when 
these  arrowheads,  which  the  rain  has  made  shine  so  on 
the  lean  stubble-field,  were  fastened  to  their  shaft. 
Thus  the  birds  sing  round  this  piece  of  water,  some  on 
the  alders  which  fringe,  some  farther  off  and  higher  up 
the  hills ;  it  is  a  centre  to  them. 

March  18,  1853.  I  stand  still  now  to  listen  if  I  may 
hear  the  note  of  any  new  bird,  for  the  sound  of  my 
steps  hinders,  and  there  are  so  few  sounds  at  this  sea- 
son in  a  still  afternoon  like  this  that  you  are  pretty 
sure  to  detect  one  within  a  considerable  distance. 
Hark !  Did  I  not  hear  the  note  of  some  bird  then  ? 
Methinks  it  could  not  have  been  my  own  breathing 


390     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

through  my  nose.  No,  there  it  is  again,  —  a  robin  ;  and 
we  have  put  the  winter  so  much  further  behind  us. 
What  mate  does  he  call  to  in  these  deserted  fields  ?  It 
is,  as  it  were,  a  scared  note  as  he  whisks  by,  followed 
by  the  familiar  but  still  anxious  toot^  toot,  toot.  He  does 
not  sing  as  yet.  There  were  one  or  two  more  fine  bird- 
like tinkling  sounds  I  could  not  trace  home,  not  to  be 
referred  to  my  breathing. 

March  21,  1853.  How  suddenly  the  newly  arrived 
birds  are  dispersed  over  the  whole  town  !  How  numer- 
ous they  must  be  !  Robins  are  now  quite  abundant,  fly- 
ing in  flocks.  One  after  another  flits  away  before  you 
from  the  trees,  somewhat  like  grasshoppers  in  the 
grass,  uttering  their  notes  faintly,  —  ventriloquizing, 
in  fact.  I  hear  one  meditating  a  bar  to  be  sung  anon, 
which  sounds  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  though  he  is  within 
two  rods.  However,  they  do  not  yet  get  to  melody. 
I  thank  the  red-wing  for  a  little  bustle  and  commotion 
which  he  makes,  trying  to  people  the  fields  again. 

March  31,  1853.  The  robins  sing  at  the  very  earli- 
est dawn.  I  wake  with  their  note  ringing  in  my  ear. 

April  4,  1853.  Last  night,  a  sugaring  of  snow,  which 
goes  off  in  an  hour  or  two  in  the  rain.  Rains  all  day, 
.  .  .  The  robins  sang  this  morning,  nevertheless,  and 
now  more  than  ever  hop  about  boldly  in  the  garden  in 
the  rain,  with  full,  broad,  light  cow-colored  breasts. 

April  6,  1853.  The  robin  is  the  singer  at  present, 
such  is  its  power  and  universality,  being  found  both  in 
garden  and  wood.  Morning  and  evening  it  does  not 
fail,  perched  on  some  elm  or  the  like,  and  in  rainy 
days  it  is  one  long  morning  or  evening.  The  song  spar- 


AMERICAN   ROBIN  391 

row  is  still  more  universal  but  not  so  powerful.  The  lark, 
too,  is  equally  constant,  morning  and  evening,  but  con- 
fined to  certain  localities,  as  is  the  blackbird  to  some  ex- 
tent. The  bluebird,  with  feebler  but  not  less  sweet  war- 
bling, helps  fill  the  air,  and  the  phoebe  does  her  part. 
The  tree  sparrow,  F.  hyemalis,  and  fox-colored  sparrows 
make  the  meadow-sides  or  gardens  where  they  are  flit- 
ting vocal,  the  first  with  its  canary-like  twittering,  the 
second  with  its  lively  ringing  trills  or  jingle.  The  third 
is  a  very  sweet  and  more  powerful  singer,  which  would 
be  memorable  if  we  heard  him  long  enough.  The  wood- 
pecker's tapping,  though  not  musical,  suggests  pleasant 
associations  in  the  cool  morning, —  is  inspiriting,  en- 
livening. 

The  robins,  too,  now  toward  sunset,  perched  on  the 
old  apple  trees  in  Tarbell's  orchard,  twirl  forth  their 
evening  lays  unweariedly. 

Oct.  10,  1853.  This  morning  it  is  very  pleasant  and 
warm.  There  are  many  small  birds  in  flocks  on  the  elms 
in  Cheney's  field,  faintly  warbling,  —  robins  and  purple 
finches  and  especially  large  flocks  of  small  sparrows, 
which  make  a  business  of  washing  and  pruning  them- 
selves in  the  puddles  in  the  road,  as  if  cleaning  up  after  a 
long  flight  and  the  wind  of  yesterday.  The  faint  sup- 
pressed warbling  of  the  robins  sounds  like  a  reminis- 
cence of  the  spring. 

March  8,  1855.  Stopping  in  a  sunny  and  sheltered 
place  on  a  hillock  in  the  woods,  —  for  it  was  raw  in  the 
wind,  —  I  heard  the  hasty,  shuffling,  as  if  frightened, 
note  of  a  rohin  from  a  dense  birch  wood,  —  a  sort  of 


392     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

tcJie  tche  tche  tche  tche^  —  and  then  probably  it  dashed 
through  the  birches ;  and  so  they  fetch  the  year  about. 
Just  fi'om  the  South  Shore,  perchance,  it  alighted  not 
in  the  village  street,  but  in  this  remote  birch  wood. 
This  sound  reminds  me  of  rainy,  misty  April  days  in 
past  years.  Once  or  twice  before,  this  afternoon,  I 
thought  I  heard  one  and  listened,  but  in  vain. 

May  4,  1855.  A  robin  sings  when  I,  in  the  house, 
cannot  distinguish  the  earliest  dawning  from  the  full 
moonlight.  His  song  first  advertised  me  of  the  daybreak, 
when  I  thought  it  was  night,  as  I  lay  looking  out  into 
the  full  moonlight.  I  heard  a  robin  begin  his  strain, 
and  yielded  the  point  to  him,  believing  that  he  was 
better  acquainted  with  the  springs  of  the  day  than  I,  — 
with  the  signs  of  day. 

June  2,  1855.  Mr.  Hoar  tells  me  that  Deacon  Far- 
rar's  son  tells  him  that  a  white  robin  has  her  nest  on 
an  apple  tree  near  their  house.  Her  mate  is  of  the 
usual  color.  All  the  family  have  seen  her,  but  at  the 
last  accounts  she  has  not  been  seen  on  the  nest. 

April  16,  1856.  The  robins  sing  with  a  will  now. 
What  a  burst  of  melody !  It  gurgles  out  of  all  conduits 
now ;  they  are  choked  with  it.  There  is  such  a  tide  and 
rush  of  song  as  when  a  river  is  straightened  between 
two  rocky  walls.  It  seems  as  if  the  morning's  throat 
were  not  large  enough  to  emit  all  this  sound.  The  robin 
sings  most  before  six  o'clock  now.  I  note  where  some 
suddenly  cease  their  song,  making  a  quite  remarkable 
vacuum. 

Feh.  27,  1857.  Before  I  opened  the  window  this  cold 
morning,  I  heard  the  peep  of  a  robin,  that  sound  so 


AMERICAN   ROBIN  393 

often  heard  in  cheerless  or  else  rainy  weather,  so  often 
heard  first  borne  on  the  cutting  March  wind  or  through 
sleet  or  rain,  as  if  its  coming  were  premature. 

Oct.  21,  1857.  I  see  a  robin  eating  prinos  *  berries. 
Is  not  the  robin  the  principal  berry-eating  bird  nowa- 
days ?  There  must  be  more  about  the  barberry  bushes 
in  Melvin's  Preserve  than  anywhere. 

Nov.  3,  1857.  I  see  on  many  rocks,  etc.,  the  seeds 
of  the  barberry,  which  have  been  voided  by  birds,  — 
robins,  no  doubt,  chiefly.  How  many  they  must  thus 
scatter  over  the  fields,  spreading  the  barberry  far  and 
wide !  That  has  been  their  business  for  a  month. 

March  24,  1858.  The  chip  of  the  ground-bird  ^  re- 
sembles that  of  a  robin,  i.  e.,  its  expression  is  the  same, 
only  fainter,  and  reminds  me  that  the  robin's  peep, 
which  sounds  like  a  note  of  distress,  is  also  a  chi'p^  or 
call-note  to  its  kind. 

June  3,  1858.  They  seemed  to  me  wild  robins  that 
placed  their  nests  in  the  spruce  up  there.^  I  noticed 
one  nest.  William  Emerson,  senior,  says  they  do  not 
breed  on  Staten  Island.  They  do  breed  at  least  at  Hud- 
son's Bay.  They  are  certainly  a  hardy  bird,  and  are  at 
home  on  this  cool  mountain-top. 

March  7,  1859.  The  first  note  which  I  heard  from 
the  robins,  far  under  the  hill,  was  8veet  sveet,  suggesting 
a  certain  haste  and  alarm,  and  then  a  rich,  hollow,  some- 
what plaintive  ^eep  or  peep-eep-eep,  as  when  in  distress 
with  young  just  flown.  When  you  first  see  them  alighted, 
they  have  a  haggard,  an  anxious  and  hurried,  look. 

1  [Black  alder,  or  winterberry,  {Ilex  verticillata) .] 
2  That  is,  song  sparrow.  ^  [On  Mt.  Monadnock.] 


394     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

Oct.  5, 1861.  This  is  a  rainy  or  drizzling  day  at  last, 
and  the  robins  and  sparrows  are  more  numerous  in  the 
yard  and  about  the  house  than  ever.  They  swarm  on 
the  ground  where  stood  the  heap  of  weeds  which  was 
burned  yesterday,  picking  up  the  seeds  which  rattled 
from  it.  Why  should  these  birds  be  so  much  more  nu- 
merous about  the  house  such  a  day  as  this?  I  think  of 
no  other  reason  than  because  it  is  darker  and  fewer 
people  are  moving  about  to  frighten  them.  Our  little 
mountain-ash  is  all  alive  with  them.  A  dozen  robins 
on  it  at  once,  busily  reaching  after  and  plucking  the 
berries,  actually  make  the  whole  tree  shake.  There  are 
also  some  little  birds  (1  think  purple  finches)  with 
them.  A  robin  will  swallow  half  a  dozen  berries,  at 
least,  in  rapid  succession  before  it  goes  off,  and  appar- 
ently it  soon  comes  back  for  more. 

[/S'ee  also  under  Chipping  Sparrow,  p.  299 ;  General 
and  Miscellaneous,  pp.  403,  406,  419,  426,  427.J 

BLUEBIRD 

April  26,  1838.      the  bluebirds 

In  the  midst  of  the  poplar  that  stands  by  our  door 

We  planted  a  bluebird  box. 

And  we  hoped  before  the  summer  was  o'er 

A  transient  pair  to  coax. 

One  warm  summer's  day  the  bluebirds  came 
And  lighted  on  our  tree, 
But  at  first  the  wand'rers  were  not  so  tame 
But  they  were  afraid  of  me. 


BLUEBIRD  395 

They  seemed  to  come  from  the  distant  south, 
Just  over  the  Walden  wood, 
And  they  skimmed  it  along  with  open  mouth 
Close  by  where  the  bellows  stood. 

Warbling  they  swept  round  the  distant  cliff, 
And  they  warbled  it  over  the  lea, 
And  over  the  blacksmith's  shop  in  a  jiff 
Did  they  come  warbling  to  me. 

They  came  and  sat  on  the  box's  top 
Without  looking  into  the  hole. 
And  only  from  this  side  to  that  did  they  hop, 
As  't  were  a  common  well-pole. 

Methinks  I  had  never  seen  them  before, 
Nor  indeed  had  they  seen  me, 
Till  I  chanced  to  stand  by  our  back  door. 
And  they  came  to  the  poplar  tree. 

In  course  of  time  they  built  their  nest 
And  reared  a  happy  brood, 
And  every  morn  they  piped  their  best 
As  they  flew  away  to  the  wood. 

Thus  wore  the  summer  hours  away 
To  the  bluebirds  and  to  me. 
And  every  hour  was  a  summer's  day. 
So  pleasantly  lived  we. 

They  were  a  world  within  themselves, 
And  I  a  world  in  me. 


396     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Up  in  the  tree  —  the  little  elves  — 
With  their  callow  family. 

One  morn  the  wind  blowed  cold  and  strong, 
And  the  leaves  went  whirling  away ; 
The  birds  prepared  for  their  journey  long 
That  raw  and  gusty  day. 

Boreas  came  blust'ring  down  from  the  north, 
And  ruffled  their  azure  smocks, 
So  they  launched  them  forth,  though  somewhat  loth, 
By  way  of  the  old  Cliff  rocks. 

Meanwhile  the  earth  jogged  steadily  on 
In  her  mantle  of  purest  white, 
And  anon  another  spring  was  born 
When  winter  was  vanished  quite. 

And  I  wandered  forth  o'er  the  steamy  earth, 
And  gazed  at  the  mellow  sky, 
But  never  before  from  the  hour  of  my  birth 
Had  I  wandered  so  thoughtfully.  ' 

For  never  before  was  the  earth  so  still, 
And  never  so  mild  was  the  sky. 
The  river,  the  fields,  the  woods,  and  the  hill 
Seemed  to  heave  an  audible  sierh. 


*i3' 


I  felt  that  the  heavens  were  all  around, 
And  the  earth  was  all  below, 
As  when  in  the  ears  there  rushes  a  sound 
Which  thrills  you  from  top  to  toe. 


BLUEBIRD  397 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  a  waking  thought, 
A  something  I  hardly  knew, 
Not  a  solid  piece,  nor  an  empty  nought, 
But  a  drop  of  morning  dew. 

'T  was  the  world  and  I  at  a  game  of  bo-peep, 
As  a  man  would  dodge  his  shadow, 
An  idea  becalmed  in  eternity's  deep, 
'Tween  Lima  and  Segraddo. 

Anon  a  faintly  warbled  note 
From  out  the  azure  deep 
Into  my  ears  did  gently  float 
As  is  the  approach  of  sleep. 

It  thrilled  but  startled  not  my  soul ; 
Across  my  mind  strange  mem'ries  gleamed. 
As  often  distant  scenes  unroll 
When  we  have  lately  dreamed. 

The  bluebird  had  come  from  the  distant  South 

To  his  box  in  the  poplar  tree. 

And  he  opened  wide  his  slender  mouth 

On  purpose  to  sing  to  me. 

July  16,  1851.  The  plaintive,  spring-restoring  peep 
of  a  bluebird  is  occasionally  heard. 

Oct.  10,  1851.  The  air  this  morning  is  full  of  blue- 
birds, and  again  it  is  spring. 

March  10,  1852.  I  see  flocks  of  a  dozen  bluebirds 
together.  The  warble  of  this  bird  is  innocent  and  ce- 
lestial, like  its  color.  Saw  a  sparrow,  perhaps  a  song 


398     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

sparrow,  flitting  amid  the  young  oaks  where  the  ground 
was  covered  with  snow.  I  think  that  this  is  an  indica- 
tion that  the  ground  is  quite  bare  a  little  further  south. 
Probably  the  spring  birds  never  fly  far  over  a  snow- 
clad  country.  A  woodchopper  tells  me  he  heard  a  robin 
this  morning. 

March  15,  1852.  A  mild  spring  day.  .  .  .  The  air 
is  full  of  bluebirds.  The  ground  almost  entirely  bare. 
The  villagers  are  out  in  the  sun,  and  every  man  is 
happy  whose  work  takes  him  outdoors.  ...  I  lean 
over  a  rail  to  hear  what  is  in  the  air,  liquid  with  the 
bluebirds'  warble. 

April  3,  1852.  The  bluebird  carries  the  sky  on  his 
back. 

March  10,  1853.  What  was  that  sound  that  came  on 
the  softened  air?  It  was  the  warble  of  the  first  blue- 
bird from  that  scraggy  apple  orchard  yonder.  When 
this  is  heard,  then  has  spring  arrived. 

March  18,  1853.  I  no  sooner  step  out  of  the  house 
than  I  hear  the  bluebirds  in  the  air,  and  far  and  near, 
everywhere  except  in  the  woods,  throughout  the  town 
you  may  hear  them, — the  blue  curls  of  their  warblings, 
—  harbingers  of  serene  and  warm  weather,  little  azure 
rills  of  melody  trickling  here  and  there  from  out  the 
air,  their  short  warble  trilled  in  the  air  reminding  of 
so  many  corkscrews  assaulting  and  thawing  the  torpid 
mass  of  winter,  assisting  the  ice  and  snow  to  melt  and 
the  streams  to  flow. 

The  bluebird  and  song  sparrow  sing  immediately  on 
their  arrival,  and  hence  deserve  to  enjoy  some  preemi- 


BLUEBIRD  399 

nence.  They  give  expression  to  the  joy  which  the  sea- 
son inspires.  But  the  robin  and  blackbird  only  peep 
and  chuck  at  first,  commonly,  and  the  lark  is  silent  and 
flitting.  The  bluebird  at  once  fills  the  air  with  his  sweet 
warbling,  and  the  song  sparrow  from  the  top  of  a  rail 
pours  forth  his  most  joyous  strain.  Both  express  their 
delight  at  the  weather  which  permits  them  to  return  to 
their  favorite  haunts.  They  are  the  more  welcome  to 
man  for  it. 

April  5,  1853.  The  bluebird  comes  to  us  bright  in 
his  vernal  dress  as  a  bridegroom.  Has  he  not  got  new 
feathers  then? 

March  11,  1854.  Bluebirds'  warbling  curls  in  elms. 

March  19,  1855.  When  I  reach  my  landing  I  hear 
my  first  bluebird,  somewhere  about  Cheney's  trees  by 
the  river.  I  hear  him  out  of  the  blue  deeps,  but  do  not 
yet  see  his  blue  body.  He  comes  with  a  warble.  Now 
first  generally  heard  in  the  village. 

April  9,  1856.  Meanwhile  a  bluebird  sits  on  the 
same  oak,  three  rods  off,  pluming  its  wings.  I  hear 
faintly  the  warbling  of  one,  apparently  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  off,  and  am  very  slow  to  detect  that  it  is  even 
this  one  before  me,  which,  in  the  intervals  of  plum- 
ing itself,  is  apparently  practicing  in  an  incredibly  low 
voice. 

May  11,  1856.  A  bluebird's  nest  and  five  eggs  in  a 
hollow  apple  tree  three  feet  from  ground  near  the  old 
bank  swallow  pit,  made  with  much  stubble  and  dried 
grass.  Can  see  the  bird  sitting  from  without. 

Jubj  12,  1856.  Hear  the  plaintive  note  of  young 
bluebirds,  a  reviving  and  gleaming  of  their  blue  ray. 


400     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

Sept  27,  1856.  The  bluebird  family  revisit  their 
box  and  warble  as  in  spring. 

Feb.  18,  1857.  I  am  excited  by  this  wonderful  air 
and  go  listening  for  the  note  of  the  bluebird  or  other 
comer.  The  very  grain  of  the  air  seems  to  have  under- 
gone a  change  and  is  ready  to  split  into  the  form  of  the 
bluebird's  warble.  Methinks  if  it  were  visible,  or  I  could 
cast  up  some  fine  dust  which  would  betray  it,  it  would 
take  a  corresponding  shape.  The  bluebird  does  not 
come  till  the  air  consents  and  his  wedge  will  enter 
easily.  The  air  over  these  fields  is  a  foundry  full  of 
moulds  for  casting  bluebirds'  warbles.  Any  sound 
uttered  now  would  take  that  form,  not  of  the  harsh, 
vibrating,  rending  scream  of  the  jay,  but  a  softer,  flow- 
ing, curling  warble,  like  a  purling  stream  or  the  lobes 
of  flowing  sand  and  clay.  Here  is  the  soft  air,  and  the 
moist  expectant  apple  trees,  but  not  yet  the  bluebird. 
They  do  not  quite  attain  to  song. 

Feb.  24,  1857.  I  am  surprised  to  hear  the  strain  of 
a  song  sparrow  from  the  riverside,  and  as  I  cross  from 
the  causeway  to  the  hill,  thinking  of  the  bluebird,  I  that 
instant  hear  one's  note  from  deep  in  the  softened  air. 
It  is  already  40°,  and  by  noon  is  between  50°  and  60°. 
As  the  day  advances  I  hear  more  bluebirds  and  see 
their  azure  flakes  settling  on  the  fence-posts.  Their 
short,  rich,  crispy  warble  curls  through  the  air.  Its 
grain  now  lies  parallel  to  the  curve  of  the  bluebird's 
warble,  like  boards  of  the  same  lot. 

March  2,  1859.  The  bluebird  which  some  woodchop- 
per  or  inspired  walker  is  said  to  have  seen  in  that  sunny 
interval  between  the  snow-storms  is  like  a  speck  of  clear 


BLUEBIRD  401 

blue  sky  seen  near  the  end  of  a  storm,  reminding  us  of 
an  ethereal  region  and  a  heaven  which  we  had  forgotten. 
Princes  and  magistrates  are  often  styled  serene,  but 
what  is  their  turbid  serenity  to  that  ethereal  serenity 
which  the  bluebird  embodies?  His  Most  Serene  Bird- 
ship!  His  soft  warble  melts  in  the  ear,  as  the  snow  is 
melting  in  the  valleys  around.  The  bluebird  comes 
and  with  his  warble  drills  the  ice  and  sets  free  the 
rivers  and  ponds  and  frozen  ground.  As  the  sand  flows 
down  the  slopes  a  little  way.  assuming  the  forms  of 
foliage  where  the  frost  comes  out  of  the  ground,  so 
this  little  rill  of  melody  flows  a  short  way  down  the 
concave  of  the  sky.  The  sharp  whistle  of  the  blackbird, 
too,  is  heard  like  single  sparks  or  a  shower  of  them 
shot  up  from  the  swamps  and  seen  against  the  dark 
winter  in  the  rear. 

March  7,  1859.  There  are  few,  if  any,  so  coarse  and 
insensible  that  they  are  not  interested  to  hear  that  the 
bluebird  has  come.  The  Irish  laborer  has  learned  to 
distinguish  him  and  report  his  arrival.  It  is  a  part  of 
the  news  of  the  season  to  the  lawyer  in  his  office  and  the 
mechanic  in  his  shop,  as  well  as  to  the  farmer.  One 
will  remember,  perchance,  to  tell  you  that  he  saw  one 
a  week  ago  in  the  next  town  or  county.  Citizens  just 
come  into  the  country  to  live  put  up  a  bluebird  box,  and 
record  in  some  kind  of  journal  the  date  of  the  first  ar- 
rival observed,  —  though  it  may  be  rather  a  late  one. 
The  farmer  can  tell  you  when  he  saw  the  first  one,  if 
you  ask  him  within  a  week. 

March  10,  1859.  The  bluebird  on  the  apple  tree, 
warbling  so  innocently  to  inquire  if  any  of  its  mates  are 


402    NOTES   ON  NEW  ENGLAND   BIRDS 

within  call,  —  the  angel  of  the  spring !  Fair  and  inno- 
cent, yet  the  offspring  of  the  earth.  The  color  of  the 
sky  above  and  of  the  subsoil  beneath.  Suggesting  what 
sweet  and  innocent  melody  (terrestrial  melody)  may 
have  its  birthplace  between  the  sky  and  the  ground. 

l_See  also  under  Chipping  Sparrow,  p.  298 ;  Warblers, 
p.  359 ;  Robin,  p.  391 ;  General  and  Miscellaneous,  pp. 
403,  425.] 


XXII 
GENERAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS 

March  4,  1840.  I  learned  to-day  that  my  ornithology 
had  done  me  no  service.  The  birds  I  heard,  which  for- 
tunately did  not  come  within  the  scope  of  my  science, 
sung  as  freshly  as  if  it  had  been  the  first  morning  of 
creation,  and  had  for  background  to  their  song  an  un- 
trodden wilderness,  stretching  through  many  a  Carolina 
and  Mexico  of  the  soul. 

April  25,  1841.  A  momentous  silence  reigns  always 
in  the  woods,  and  their  meaning  seems  just  ripening  into 
expression.  But  alas !  they  make  no  haste.  The  rush 
sparrow,*  Nature's  minstrel  of  serene  hours,  sings  of  an 
immense  leisure  and  duration. 

When  I  hear  a  robin  sing  at  sunset,  I  cannot  help 
contrasting  the  equanimity  of  Nature  with  the  bustle 
and  impatience  of  man.  We  return  from  the  lyceum 
and  caucus  with  such  stir  and  excitement  as  if  a  crisis 
were  at  hand  ;  but  no  natural  scene  or  sound  sympathizes 
with  us,  for  Nature  is  always  silent  and  unpretending 
as  at  the  break  of  day.    She  but  rubs  her  eyelids. 

Sept.  29, 1842.  To-day  the  lark  sings  again  down  in 
the  meadow,  and  the  robin  peeps,  and  the  bluebirds,  old 
and  young,  have  revisited  their  box,  as  if  they  would 
fain  repeat  the  summer  without  the  intervention  of 
winter,  if  Nature  would  let  them. 

^  [The  field  sparrow.   See  note  on  p.  299.] 


404     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

1850.  In  all  my  rambles  I  have  seen  no  landscape 
which  can  make  me  forget  Fair  Haven,  I  still  sit  on  its 
Cliff  in  a  new  spring  day,  and  look  over  the  awakening 
woods  and  the  river,  and  hear  the  new  birds  sing,  with 
the  same  delight  as  ever.  It  is  as  sweet  a  mystery  to 
me  as  ever  what  this  world  is.  Fair  Haven  Lake  in  the 
south,  with  its  pine-covered  island  and  its  meadows,  the 
hickories  putting  out  fresh  young  yellowish  leaves,  and 
the  oaks  light-grayish  ones,  while  the  oven-bird  thrums 
his  sawyer-like  strain,  and  the  chewink  rustles  through 
the  dry  leaves  or  repeats  his  jingle  on  a  tree-top,  and 
the  wood  thrush,  the  genius  of  the  wood,  whistles  for 
the  first  time  his  clear  and  thrilling  strain,  —  it  sounds 
as  it  did  the  first  time  I  heard  it.  The  sight  of  these 
budding  woods  intoxicates  me,  —  this  diet  drink. 

1850.  Now,  about  the  first  of  September,  you  will  see 
flocks  of  small  birds  forming  compact  and  distinct 
masses,  as  if  they  were  not  only  animated  by  one  spirit 
but  actually  held  together  by  some  invisible  fluid  or  film, 
and  will  hear  the  sound  of  their  wings  rippling  or  fan- 
ning the  air  as  they  flow  through  it,  flying,  the  whole 
mass,  ricochet  like  a  single  bird,  —  or  as  they  flow  over 
the  fence.  Their  mind  must  operate  faster  than  man's, 
in  proportion  as  their  bodies  do. 

Nov.  8, 1850.  Everything  stands  silent  and  expectant. 
If  I  listen,  I  hear  only  the  note  of  a  chickadee,  —  our 
most  common  and  I  may  say  native  bird,  most  identified 
with  our  forests,  —  or  perchance  the  scream  of  a  jay,  or 
perchance  from  the  solemn  depths  of  these  woods  I  hear 
tolling  far  away  the  knell  of  one  departed.  Thought 
rushes  in  to  fill  the  vacuum.  As  you  walk,  however,  the 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     405 

partridge  still  bursts  away.  The  silent,  dry,  almost 
leafless,  certainly  fruitless  woods.  You  wonder  what 
cheer  that  bird  can  find  in  them.  The  partridge  bursts 
away  from  the  foot  of  a  shrub  oak  like  its  own  dry  fruit, 
immortal  bird  !    This  sound  still  startles  us. 

Jan.  7,  1851.  The  snow  is  sixteen  inches  deep  at 
least,  but  it  is  a  mild  and  genial  afternoon,  as  if  it  were 
the  beginning  of  a  January  thaw.  Take  away  the  snow 
and  it  would  not  be  winter  but  like  many  days  in  the 
fall.  The  birds  acknowledge  the  difference  in  the  air;  the 
jays  are  more  noisy,  and  the  chickadees  are  of tener  heard. 

June  13, 1851.  I  hear,  just  as  the  night  sets  in,  faint 
notes  from  time  to  time  from  some  sparrow  (?)  falling 
asleep,  —  a  vesper  hymn,  —  and  later,  in  the  woods,  the 
chuckling,  rattling  sound  of  some  unseen  bird  on  the 
near  trees.    The  nighthawk  booms  wide  awake. 

June  14,  1851.  Now  the  sun  is  fairly  gone,  I  hear 
tlie  dreaming  frog,*  and  the  whip-poor-will  from  some 
darker  wood,  —  it  is  not  far  from  eight,  —  and  the 
cuckoo.  The  song  sparrows  sing  quite  briskly  among 
the  willows,  as  if  it  were  spring  again,  and  the  black- 
bird's harsher  note  resounds  over  the  meadows,  and  the 
veery's  comes  up  from  the  wood. 

In  Conant's  orchard  I  hear  the  faint  cricket-like  sons: 
of  a  sparrow  saying  its  vespers,  as  if  it  were  a  link  be- 
tween the  cricket  and  the  bird.  The  robin  sings  now, 
though  the  moon  shines  silverly,  and  the  veery  jingles 
its  trill. 

^  Toad  ?    [Thoreau  afterwards  learned  that  his  "  dreaming  frogs  " 
were  toads.   In  this  case  it  was  probably  Fowler's  toad.] 


406     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

July  10, 1851.  The  swallows  are  Improving  this  short 
day,  twittering  as  they  fly,  and  the  huckleberry-bird  ^ 
repeats  his  jingling  strain,  and  the  song  sparrpw,  more 
honest  than  most. 

July  12, 1851.  I  hear  that  sort  of  throttled  or  chuck- 
ling note  as  of  a  bird  flying  high,  now  from  this  side, 
then  from  that.^  ...  I  am  startled  by  the  rapid  transit 
of  some  wild  animal  across  my  path,  a  rabbit  or  a  fox,  — 
or  you  hardly  know  if  it  be  not  a  bird.  Looking  down 
from  the  clififs,  the  leaves  of  the  tree-tops  shine  more 
than  ever  by  day.  Here  and  there  a  lightning-bug  shows 
his  greenish  light  over  the  tops  of  the  trees. 

As  I  return  through  the  orchard,  a  foolish  robin 
bursts  away  from  his  perch  unnaturally,  with  the  habits 
of  man. 

July  13,  1851.  I  hear,  4  p.  m,,  a  pigeon  woodpecker 
on  a  dead  pine  near  by,  uttering  a  harsh  and  scolding 
scream,  spying  me.  The  chewink  jingles  on  the  tops  of 
the  bushes,  and  the  rush  sparrow,^  the  vireo,  and  oven- 
bird  at  a  distance  ;  and  a  robin  sings,  superior  to  all ; 
and  a  barking  dog  has  started  something  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  river;  and  now  the  wood  thrush  sur- 
passes them  all. 

July  16,  1851.  Now,  at  4  p.  m.,  I  hear  the  pewee  in 
the  woods,  and  the  cuckoo  reminds  me  of  some  silence 
among  the  birds  I  had  not  noticed.  The  vireo  (red- 
eyed  ?}  sings  like  a  robin  at  even,  incessantly,  —  for  I 

1  [The  field  sparrow.   See  pp.  299,  300.] 

'  [Probably  a  cuckoo.  See  Mr.  Gerald  H.  Thayer's  account  of  the 
nocturnal  flights  of  the  black-billed  cuckoo  in  Bird-Lore.  September- 
October,  190o.  vol.  V,  pp.  143-145.] 

2  [The  field  sparrow.    See  note  on  p.  299.] 


GENERAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS    407 

have  now  turned  into  Conant's  woods.  The  oven-bird 
helps  fill  some  pauses.  .  .  .  Here  comes  a  small  bird 
with  a  ricochet  flight  and  a  faint  twittering  note  like  a 
messenger  from  Elysium. 

Nov.  9,  1851.  Now  the  leaves  are  gone  the  birds' 
nests  are  revealed,  the  brood  being  fledged  and  flown. 
There  is  a  perfect  adaptation  in  the  material  used  in 
constructing  a  nest.  There  is  one  which  I  took  from  a 
maple  on  the  causeway  at  Hubbard's  Bridge.  It  is  fas- 
tened to  the  twigs  by  white  woolen  strings  (out  of  a 
shawl?),  which  it  has  picked  up  in  the  road,  though  it 
is  more  than  half  a  mile  from  a  house  ;  and  the  sharp 
eyes  of  the  bird  have  discovered  plenty  of  horsehairs 
out  of  the  tail  or  mane,  with  which  to  give  it  form  by 
their  spring  ;  with  fine  meadow  hay  for  body,  and  the 
reddish  woolly  material  which  invests  the  ferns  in  the 
spring  (apparently)  for  lining. 

March  10,  1852.  I  was  reminded,  this  morning  be- 
fore I  rose,  of  those  undescribed  ambrosial  mornings 
of  summer  which  I  can  remember,  when  a  thousand 
birds  were  heard  gently  twittering  and  ushering  in  the 
light,  like  the  argument  to  a  new  canto  of  an  epic  and 
heroic  poem.  The  serenity,  the  infinite  promise,  of  such 
a  morning !  The  song  or  twitter  of  birds  drips  from  the 
leaves  like  dew.  Then  there  was  something  divine  and 
immortal  in  our  life.  When  I  have  waked  up  on  my 
couch  in  the  woods  and  seen  the  day  dawning,  and 
heard  the  twittering  of  the  birds. 

April  2,  1852.  6  A.  M.  — The  sun  is  up.  The  water 
on  the  meadows  is  perfectly  smooth  and  placid,  reflect- 
ing; the  hills  and  clouds  and  trees.  The  air  is  full  of 


408     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

the  notes  of  birds,  —  song  sparrows,  red-wiugs,  robins 
(singing  a  strain),  bluebirds, — and  I  hear  also  a  lark, 
—  as  if  all  the  earth  had  burst  forth  into  songf.  The 
influence  of  this  April  morning  has  reached  them,  for 
thej^  live  out-of-doors  all  the  night,  and  there  is  no 
danger  that  they  will  oversleep  themselves  such  a 
morning. 

Ajyril  4, 1852.  P.  M.  —  Going  across  AYheeler's  large 
field  beyond  Potter's,  saw  a  large  flock  of  small  birds 
go  by,  I  am  not  sure  what  kind,  the  near  ones  contin- 
ually overtaking  the  foremost,  so  that  the  whole  flock 
appeared  to  roll  over  as  it  went  forward.  When  they 
lit  on  a  tree,  they  appeared  at  a  distance  to  clothe  it 
like  dead  leaves. 

Ajwil  17,  1852.  Gilpin  says,  "  As  the  wheeling  mo- 
tion of  the  gull  is  beautiful,  so  also  is  the  figured  flight 
of  the  goose,  the  duck,  and  the  widgeon  ;  all  of  which 
are  highly  ornamental  to  coast-views,  bays,  and  estua- 
ries." ^  A  flight  of  ducks  adds  to  the  wildness  of  our 
wildest  river  scenery.  Undoubtedly  the  soaring  and 
sailing  of  the  hen-hawk,  the  red-shouldered  buzzard  (?), 
is  the  most  ornamental,  graceful,  stately,  beautiful  to 
contemplate,  of  all  the  birds  that  ordinarily  frequent 
our  skies.  The  eag^le  is  but  a  rare  and  casual  visitor. 
The  goose,  the  osprey,  the  great  heron,  though  interest- 
ing, are  either  transient  visitors  or  rarely  seen ;  they 
either  move  through  the  air  as  passengers  or  too  exclu- 
sively looking  for  their  prey,  but  the  hen-hawk  soars 
like  a  creature  of  the  air.  The  flight  of  martins  is  inter- 
esting in  the  same  way.  When  I  was  young  and  com- 
^  [^Remarks  on  Forest  Scenery.] 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS    409 

pelled  to  pass  my  Sunday  in  the  house  without  the  aid 
of  interesting  books,  I  used  to  spend  many  an  hour  till 
the  wished-for  sundown  watching  the  martins  soar, 
from  an  attic  window ;  and  fortunate  indeed  did  I  deem 
myself  when  a  hawk  appeared  in  the  heavens,  though 
far  toward  the  horizon  against  a  downy  cloud,  and  I 
searched  for  hours  till  I  had  found  his  mate.  They,  at 
least,  took  my  thoughts  from  earthly  things. 

April  23,  1852.  Vegetation  starts  when  the  earth's 
axis  is  sufficiently  inclined  ;  i.  e.,  it  follows  the  sun.  In- 
sects and  all  the  smaller  animals  (as  well  as  many 
larger)  follow  vegetation.  The  fishes,  the  small  fry, 
start  probably  for  this  reason  ;  worms  come  out  of  the 
trees  ;  buffaloes  finally  seek  new  pastures  ;  water-bugs 
appear  on  the  water,  etc.,  etc.  Next,  the  large  fish  and 
fish  hawks,  etc.,  follow  the  small  fry;  flycatchers  follow 
the  insects  and  worms.  (The  granivorous  birds,  who 
can  depend  on  the  supplies  of  dry  seeds  of  last  year, 
are  to  some  extent  independent  of  the  seasons,  and  can 
remain  through  the  winter  or  come  early  in  the  spring, 
and  they  furnish  food  for  a  few  birds  of  prey  at  that 
season.)  Indians  follow  the  buffaloes ;  trout,  suckers, 
etc.,  follow  the  water-bugs,  etc.;  reptiles  follow  vege- 
tation, insects,  and  worms ;  birds  of  prey,  the  fly- 
catchers, etc.  Man  follows  all,  and  all  follow  the  sun. 
The  greater  or  less  abundance  of  food  determines  mi- 
grations. If  the  buds  are  deceived  and  suffer  from  frost, 
then  are  the  birds.  The  great  necessary  of  life  for  the 
brute  creation  is  food;  next,  perhaps,  shelter,  i.  e.  a 
suitable  climate ;  thirdly,  perhaps,  security  from  foes. 

May  3,  1852.  It  requires  so  much  closer  attention  to 


410     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

the  habits  of  the  birds,  that,  if  for  that  reason  only,  I 
am  willing  to  omit  the  gun. 

May  7, 1852.  I  think  that  birds  vary  their  notes  con- 
siderably with  the  seasons.  When  I  hear  a  bird  singing, 
I  cannot  think  of  any  words  that  will  imitate  it.  What 
word  can  stand  in  place  of  a  bird's  note  ?  You  would 
have  to  bury  [  ?  ]  it,  or  surround  it  with  a  chevaux  de 
frise  of  accents,  and  exhaust  the  art  of  the  musical  com- 
poser besides  with  your  different  bars,  to  represent  it, 
and  finally  get  a  bird  to  sing  it,  to  perform  it.  It  has 
so  little  relation  to  words.  The  wood  thrush  ^  says  ah- 
tuUy-tully  for  one  strain.  There  appear  to  be  one  or 
more  little  warblers  in  the  woods  this  morning  which 
are  new  to  the  season,  about  which  I  am  in  doubt,  myrtle- 
birds  among  them.  For  now,  before  the  leaves,  they 
begin  to  jaeople  the  trees  in  this  warm  weather.  The 
first  wave  of  summer  from  the  south. 

June  4,  1852.  The  birds  sing  at  dawn.  What  sounds 
to  be  awakened  by !  If  only  our  sleep,  our  dreams,  are 
such  as  to  harmonize  with  the  song,  the  warbling,  of 
the  birds,  ushering  in  the  day  !  They  appear  compara- 
tively silent  an  hour  or  two  later. 

June  25, 1852.  I  observe  that  young  birds  are  usually 
of  a  duller  color  and  more  speckled  than  old  ones,  as  if 
for  their  protection  in  their  tender  state.  They  have  not 
yet  the  markings  (and  the  beauty)  which  distinguish 
their  species,  and  which  betray  it  often,  but  by  their 
colors  are  merged  in  the  variety  of  colors  of  the  season. 

July  7,  1852.  4  A.  M.  —  The  first  really  foggy  morn- 
ing. Yet  before  I  rise  I  hear  the  song  of  birds  from  out 
1  [The  hermit  thrush  ?J 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     411 

it,  like  the  bursting  of  its  bubbles  with  music,  the  bead 
on  liquids  just  uncorked.  Their  song  gilds  thus  the 
frostwork  of  the  morning.  As  if  the  fog  were  a  great 
sweet  froth  on  the  surface  of  land  and  water,  whose 
fixed  air  escaped,  whose  bubbles  burst  with  music.  The 
sound  of  its  evaporation,  the  fixed  air  of  the  morning 
just  brought  from  the  cellars  of  the  night  escaping.  The 
morning  twittering  of  birds  in  perfect  harmony  with  it. 
.  .  .  The  fog  condenses  into  fountains  and  streams  of 
music,  as  into  the  strain  of  the  bobolink  which  I  hear, 
and  runs  off  so.  The  music  of  the  birds  is  the  tinkling 
of  the  rills  that  flow  from  it.  I  cannot  see  twenty  rods. 

July  30,  1852.  What  a  gem  is  a  bird's  egg^  especially 
a  blue  or  a  green  one,  when  you  see  one,  broken  or  whole, 
in  the  woods !  I  noticed  a  small  blue  egg  this  afternoon 
washed  up  by  Flint's  Pond  and  half  buried  by  white 
sand,  and  as  it  lay  there,  alternately  wet  and  dry,  no 
color  could  be  fairer,  no  gem  could  have  a  more  advan- 
tageous or  favorable  setting.  Probably  it  was  shaken 
out  of  some  nest  which  overhung  the  water.  I  fre- 
quently meet  with  broken  egg-shells  where  a  crow,  per- 
chance, or  some  other  thief  has  been  marauding.  And 
is  not  that  shell  something  very  precious  that  houses 
that  winged  life  ? 

Aug.  6,  1852.  How  different  the  feeble  twittering 
of  the  birds  here  at  sunrise  from  the  full  quire  of  the 
spring !  Only  the  wood  thrush,  a  huckleberry-bird  or 
two,  or  chickadee,  the  scream  of  a  flicker  or  a  jay,  or 
the  caw  of  a  crow,  and  commonly  only  an  alarmed  note 
of  a  robin.   A  solitary  peawai  ^  may  be  heard,  per- 

^  [Wood  pewee.] 


412     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

chance,  or  a  red-eye,  but  no  thrashers,  or  catbirds,  or 
oven-birds,  or  the  jingle  of  the  chewink.  I  hear  the 
ominous  twittering  of  the  goldfinch  over  all. 

March  18,  1853.  How  eagerly  the  birds  of  passage 
penetrate  the  northern  ice,  watching  for  a  crack  by 
which  to  enter  !  Forthwith  the  swift  ducks  will  be  seen 
winging  their  way  along  the  rivers  and  up  the  coast. 
They  watch  the  weather  more  sedulously  than  the 
teamster.  All  nature  is  thus  forward  to  move  with  the 
revolution  of  the  seasons.  Now  for  some  days  the  birds 
have  been  ready  by  myriads,  a  flight  or  two  south,  to 
invade  our  latitudes  and,  with  this  mild  and  serener 
weather,  resume  their  flight. 

I  came  forth  expecting  to  bear  new  birds,  and  I  am 
not  disappointed.  We  know  well  what  to  count  upon. 
Their  coming  is  more  sure  than  the  arrival  of  the  sailing 
and  steaming  packets.  Almost  while  I  listen  for  this 
purpose,  I  hear  the  chuch,  chuck  of  a  blackbird  in  the 
sky,  whom  I  cannot  detect.  So  small  an  object  is  lost 
in  the  wide  expanse  of  the  heavens,  though  no  obstacle 
intervenes.  When  your  eye  has  detected  it,  you  can 
follow  it  well  enough,  but  it  is  difficult  to  bring  your 
sight  to  bear  on  it,  as  to  direct  a  telescope  to  a  particular 
star.  How  many  hawks  may  fly  undetected,  yet  within 
sight,  above  our  heads !  And  there 's  the  great  gull  I 
came  to  see,  already  fishing  in  front  of  Bittern  Cliff. 
Now  he  stoops  to  the  water  for  his  prey,  but  sluggishly, 
methinks.  He  requires  a  high  and  perhaps  a  head  wind 
to  make  his  motions  graceful.  I  see  no  mate.  He  must 
have  come  up,  methinks,  before  the  storm  was  over, 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     413 

unless  he  started  when  I  did.  I  believe  it  is  only  an 
easterly  wind  or  storm  brings  him  up. 

March  21,  1853.  Morning  along  the  river. 

The  air  full  of  song  sparrows,  —  swedlt  swedit  swedit 
and  then  a  rapid  jingle  or  trill,  holding  up  its  head  with- 
out fear  of  me,  the  innocent,  humble  bird,  or  one  pur- 
suing another  through  the  alders  by  the  waterside.  Why 
are  the  early  birds  found  most  along  the  water  ?  These 
song  sparrows  are  now  first  heard  commonly.  The  black- 
birds, too,  create  some  melody.  And  the  bluebirds,  how 
sweet  their  warble  in  the  soft  air,  heard  over  the  water ! 
The  robin  is  heard  further  off,  and  seen  flying  rapidly, 
hurriedly  through  the  orchard.  And  now  the  elms  sud- 
denly ring  with  the  chill-lill-lill  and  canary -like  notes  of 
the  Fringilla  hyem^alis^  which  fill  the  air  more  than 
those  of  any  bird  yet,  —  a  little  strange  they  sound  be- 
cause they  do  not  tarry  to  breed  with  us,  —  a  ringing 
sound. 

March  22,  1853.  Already  I  hear  from  the  railroad 
the  plaintive  strain  of  a  lark  or  two.  They  sit  now 
conspicuous  on  the  bare  russet  ground.  The  tinkling 
bubbles  of  the  song  sparrow  are  wafted  from  distant 
fence-posts, — little  rills  of  song  that  begin  to  flow  and 
tinkle  as  soon  as  the  frost  is  out  of  the  ground.  The 
blackbird  tries  to  sing,  as  it  were  with  a  bone  in  his 
.  throat,  or  to  whistle  and  sing  at  once.  Whither  so  fast, 
the  restless  creature,  —  chuch,  chuch,  at  every  rod,  and 
now  and  then  whistle-ter-ee  ?  The  chill-lill  of  the  blue 
snowbirds  is  heard  again.  A  partridge  goes  off  on 
Fair  Haven  Hill-side  with  a  sudden  whir  like  the  wad 
of    a   six-pounder,  keeping   just   level  with   the   tops 


414     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

of  the  sprouts.  These  birds  and  quails  go  off  like  a 
report. 

April  16, 1853.  Birds  loosen  and  expand  their  feath- 
ers and  look  larger  in  the  rain. 

3fay  4,  1853.  The  woods  and  paths  next  them  now 
ring  with  the  silver  jingle  of  the  field  sparrow,  the 
medley  of  the  brown  thrasher,  the  honest  qui  vive  of 
the  ehewink,  or  his  jingle  from  the  top  of  a  low  copse 
tree,  while  his  mate  scratches  in  the  dry  leaves  beneath ; 
the  black  and  white  creeper  is  hopping  along  the  oak 
boughs,  head  downward,  pausing  from  time  to  time  to 
utter  its  note  like  a  fine,  delicate  saw-sharpening ;  and 
ever  and  anon  rises  clear  over  all  the  smooth,  rich 
melody  of  the  wood  thrush. 

May  10, 1853.  There  is  now  a  multiplicity  of  sounds, 
in  which  the  few  faint  spring  ones  are  drowned.  The 
birds  are  in  full  blast,  singing,  warbling,  chirping, 
humming.  Yet  we  do  not  receive  more  ideas  through 
our  ears  than  before.  The  storms  and  ducks  of  spring 
have  swept  by  and  left  us  to  the  repose  of  summer,  the 
farmers  to  the  ignoble  pursuits  of  planting  and  hoeing 
corn  and  potatoes.  The  summer  is  not  bracing,  as  when 
you  hear  the  note  of  the  jay  in  the  cool  air  of  October 
from  the  rustling  chestnut  woods. 

June  16,  1853.  Before  4  a.  m.,  or  sunrise,  the  sound 
of  chip-birds  and  robins  and  bluebirds,  etc.,  fills  the 
air  and  is  incessant.  It  is  a  crowing  on  the  roost,  rae- 
thinks,  as  the  cock  crows  before  he  goes  abroad.  They 
do  not  sing  deliberately  as  at  eve,  but  greet  the  morn- 
ing with  an  incessant  twitter.  Even  the  crickets  seem 
to  join  the  concert.  Yet  I  think  it  is  not  the  same  every 


GENERAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS    415 

morning,  though  it  may  be  fair.  An  hour  or  two  later 
it  is  comparative  silence.  The  awaking  of  the  birds,  a 
tumultuous  twittering. 

Nov.  8,  1853.  Birds  generally  wear  the  russet  dress 
of  nature  at  this  season.  They  have  their  fall  no  less 
than  the  plants  ;  the  bright  tints  depart  from  their 
foliage  or  feathers,  and  they  flit  past  like  withered 
leaves  in  rustling  flocks.  The  sparrow  is  a  withered 
leaf. 

Dec.  5,  1853.  Saw  and  heard  a  downy  woodpecker 
on  an  apple  tree.  Have  not  many  winter  birds,  like 
this  and  the  chickadee,  a  sharp,  note  like  tinkling  glass 
or  icicles  ?  The  chip  of  the  tree  sparrow,  also,  and  the 
whistle  of  the  shrike,  are  they  not  wintry  in  the  same 
way  ?  And  the  sonorous  hooting  owl  ?  But  not  so  the 
jay  and  Fringilla  linaria^  and  still  less  the  crow. 

Feb.  14,  1854.  In  Stow's  wood,  by  the  Deep  Cut, 
hear  the  gnah  gnah  of  the  white-breasted,  black-capped 
nuthatch.  I  went  up  the  bank  and  stood  by  the  fence. 
A  little  family  of  titmice  gathered  about  me,  search- 
ing for  their  food  both  on  the  ground  and  on  the  trees, 
with  great  industry  and  intentness,  and  now  and  then 
pursuing  each  other.  There  were  two  nuthatches  at 
least,  talking  to  each  other.  One  hung  with  his  head 
down  on  a  large  pitch  pine,  pecking  the  bark  "for  ia 
long  time,  —  leaden  blue  above,  with  a  black  cap  and 
white  breast.  It  uttered  almost  constantly  a  faint  but 
sharp  quivet  or  creak,  difficult  to  trace  home,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  answered  by  a  baser  and  louder  gnah  gnah 
from  the  other.  A  downy  woodpecker  also,  with  the 
red  spot  on  his  hind  head  and  his  cassock  open  behind, 


416     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

showing  his  white  robe,  kept  up  an  incessant  loud  tap- 
ping on  another  pitch  pine.  All  at  once  an  active  little 
brown  creeper  makes  its  appearance,  a  small,  rather 
slender  bird,  with  a  long  tail  and  sparrow-colored  back, 
and  white  beneath.  It  commences  at  the  bottom  of  a 
tree  and  glides  up  very  rapidly,  then  suddenly  darts  to 
the  bottom  of  a  new  tree  and  repeats  the  same  move- 
ment, not  resting  long  in  one  place  or  on  one  tree.  These 
birds  are  all  feeding  and  flitting  along  together,  but 
the  chickadees  are  the  most  numerous  and  the  most  con- 
fiding. I  observe  that  three  of  the  four  thus  associated, 
viz.  the  chickadee,  nuthatch,  and  woodpecker,  have  black 
crowns,  —  at  least  the  first  two,  very  conspicuous  black 
caps.  I  cannot  but  think  that  this  sprightly  association 
and  readiness  to  burst  into  song  has  to  do  with  the 
prospect  of  spring,  —  more  light  and  warmth  and  thaw- 
ing weather.  The  titmice  keep  up  an  incessant  faint 
tinkling  tchip  :  now  and  then  one  utters  a  lively  day 
day  day,  and  once  or  twice  one  commenced  a  gurgling 
strain  quite  novel,  startling,  and  springlike. 

March  1,  1854.  As  for  the  birds  of  the  past  winter : 
I  have  seen  but  three  hawks,  —  one  early  in  the  winter 
and  two  lately  ;  have  heard  the  hooting  owl  pretty  often 
late  in  the  afternoon.  Crows  have  not  been  numerous, 
but  their  cawing  was  heard  chiefly  in  pleasanter  morn- 
ings. Blue  jays  have  blown  the  trumpet  of  winter  as 
usual,  but  they,  as  all  birds,  are  most  lively  in  spring- 
like days.  The  chickadees  have  been  the  prevailing 
bird.  The  partridge  common  enough.  One  ditcher  tells 
me  that  he  saw  two  robins  in  Moore's  Swamp  a  month 
ago.  I  have  not  seen  a  quail,  though  a  few  have  been 


GENERAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS     417 

killed  in  the  thaws.  Four  or  five  downy  woodpeckers. 
The  white-breasted  nuthatch  four  or  five  times.  Tree 
sparrows  one  or  more  at  a  time,  oftener  than  any  bird 
that  comes  to  us  from  the  north.  Two  pigeon  wood- 
peckers, I  think,  lately.  One  dead  shrike,  and  perhaps 
one  or  two  live  ones.  Have  heard  of  two  white  owls,  — 
one  about  Thanksgiving  time  and  one  in  midwinter. 
One  short-eared  owl  in  December.  Several  flocks  of 
snow  buntings  for  a  week  in  the  severest  storm,  and  in 
December,  last  past.  One  grebe  in  Walden  just  before 
it  froze  completely.  And  two  brown  creepers  once  in 
middle  of  February.  Channing  says  he  saw  a  little 
olivaceous-green  bird  lately.  I  have  not  seen  an  F. 
linaria^  nor  a  pine  grosbeak,  nor  an  F.  hyemalis  this 
winter,  though  the  first  was  the  prevailing  bird  last 
winter. 

March  12,  1854.  All  these  birds  do  their  warbling 
especially  in  the  still,  sunny  hour  after  sunrise,  as  rivers 
twinkle  at  their  sources.  Now  is  the  time  to  be  abroad 
and  hear  them,  as  you  detect  the  slightest  ripple  in 
smooth  water.  As  with  tinkling  sounds  the  sources  of 
streams  burst  their  icy  fetters,  so  the  rills  of  music  begin 
to  flow  and  swell  the  general  quire  of  spring. 

May  10,  1854.  In  Boston  yesterday  an  ornitholo- 
gist said  significantly,  "  If  you  held  the  bird  in  your 
hand  — ; "  but  I  would  rather  hold  it  in  my  affections. 

Aug.  10, 1854.  The  tinkling  notes  of  goldfinches  and 
bobolinks  which  we  hear  nowadays  are  of  one  character 
and  peculiar  to  the  season.  They  are  not  voluminous 
flowers,  but  rather  nuts,  of  sound,  —  ripened  seeds  of 
sound.  It  is  the  tinkling  of  ripened  grains  in  Nature's 


418    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

basket.  It  is  like  the  sparkle  on  water,  —  a  sound  pro- 
duced by  friction  on  the  crisped  air. 

April  6,  1855.  The  banks  of  the  river  are  alive  with 
song  sparrows  and  tree  sparrows.  They  now  sing  in 
advance  of  vegetation,  as  the  flowers  will  blossom, — 
those  slight  tinkling,  twittering  sounds  called  the  sing- 
ing of  birds  ;  they  have  come  to  enliven  the  bare  twigs 
before  the  buds  show  any  signs  of  starting. 

May  3,  1855.  Humphrey  Buttrick,  one  of  eight  who 
alone  returned  from  Texas  out  of  twenty-four,  says  he 
can  find  woodcock's  eggs  ;  now  knows  of  several  nests  ; 
has  seen  them  setting  with  snow  around  them ;  and 
that  Melvin  has  seen  partridges'  eggs  some  days  ago. 
He  has  seen  crows  building  this  year.  Found  in  a  hen- 
hawk's  nest  once  the  legs  of  a  cat.  Has  known  of  several 
goshawks'  nests  (or  what  he  calls  some  kind  of  eagle ; 
Garfield  called  it  the  Cape  eagle) ;  one  in  a  shrub  oak, 
with  eggs.'  Last  year  his  dog  caught  seven  black  ducks 
so  far  grown  that  he  got  sixty  cents  a  pair  for  them  ; 
takes  a  pretty  active  dog  to  catch  such.  He  frequently 
finds  or  hears  of  them.  Knew  of  a  nest  this  year.  Also 
finds  wood  ducks'  nests.  Has  very  often  seen  partridges 
drimi  close  to  him.  Has  watched  one  for  an  hour.  They 
strike  the  body  with  their  wings.  He  shot  a  white- 
headed  eagle  from  Carlisle  Bridge.  It  fell  in  the  water, 
and  his  dog  was  glad  to  let  it  alone.  He  suggested  that 
my  fish  hawks  found  pouts  in  holes  made  by  ice. 

May  IJ,  1855.  Waked  up  at  2.30  by  the  peep  of 
robins,  which  were  aroused  by  a  fire  at  the  pail-factory 

^  [There  are  no  authentic  records  of  the  nesting  of  the  goshawk  in 

Massachusetts.] 


GENERAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS     419 

about  two  miles  west.  I  hear  that  the  air  was  full  of 
birds  singing  thereabouts.  It  rained  gently  at  the  same 
time,  though  not  steadily. 

Aug.  5, 1855.   8  P.  M. —  On  river  to  see  swallows. 

At  this  hour  the  robins  fly  to  high,  thick  oaks  (as 
this  swamp  white  oak)  to  roost  for  the  night.  The  wings 
of  the  chimney  swallows  flying  near  me  make  a  whis- 
tling sound  like  a  duck's.  Is  not  this  peculiar  among 
the  swallows  ?  They  flutter  much  for  want  of  tail.  I 
see  martins  about.  Now  many  swallows  in  the  twilight, 
after  circling  eight  feet  high,  come  back  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  high  and  then  go  down  the  river. 

Sept.  15,  1855.  Three  weeks  ago  saw  many  brown 
thrashers,  catbirds,  robins,  etc.,  on  wild  cherries.  They 
are  worth  raising  for  the  birds  about  you,  though  ob- 
jectionable on  account  of  caterpillars. 

Oct.  22,  1855.  Birds  are  certainly  afraid  of  man. 
They  [allow]  all  other  creatures,  —  cows  and  horses, 
etc.,  —  excepting  only  one  or  two  kinds,  birds  or  beasts 
of  prey,  to  come  near  them,  but  not  man.  What  does 
this  fact  signify  ?  Does  it  not  signify  that  man,  too,  is 
a  beast  of  prey  to  them  ?  Is  he,  then,  a  true  lord  of  cre- 
ation, whose  subjects  are  afraid  of  him,  and  with  rea- 
son ?  They  know  very  well  that  he  is  not  humane,  as 
he  pretends  to  be. 

Dec.  11,  1855.  Standing  there,  though  in  this  bare 
November  landscape,  I  am  reminded  of  the  incredible 
phenomenon  of  small  birds  in  winter,  —  that  ere  long, 
amid  the  cold  powdery  snow,  as  it  were  a  fruit  of  the 
season,  will  come  twittering  a  flock  of  delicate  crimson- 
tinged  birds,  lesser  redpolls,  to  sport  and  feed  on  the 


420     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

seeds  and  buds  now  just  ripe  for  them  on  the  sunny 
side  of  a  wood,  shaking  down  the  powdery  snow  there 
in  their  cheerful  social  feeding,  as  if  it  were  high  mid- 
summer to  them.  These  crimson  aerial  creatures  have 
wings  which  would  bear  them  quickly  to  the  regions  of 
summer,  but  here  is  all  the  summer  they  want.  What 
a  rich  contrast!  tropical  colors,  crimson  breasts,  on 
cold  white  snow !  Such  etherealness,  such  delicacy  in 
their  forms,  such  ripeness  in  their  colors,  in  this  stern 
and  barren  season !  It  is  as  surprising  as  if  you  were 
to  find  a  brilliant  crimson  flower  which  flourished  amid 
snows.  They  greet  the  chopper  and  the  hunter  in  their 
furs.  Their  Maker  gave  them  the  last  touch  and 
launched  them  forth  the  day  of  the  Great  Snow.^  He 
made  this  bitter,  imprisoning  cold  before  which  man 
quails,  but  He  made  at  the  same  time  these  warm  and 
glowing  creatures  to  twitter  and  be  at  home  in  it.  He 
said  not  only.  Let  there  be  linnets  in  winter,  but  linnets 
of  rich  plumage  and  pleasing  twitter,  bearing  summer 
in  their  natures.  The  snow  will  be  three  feet  deep,  the 
ice  will  be  two  feet  thick,  and  last  night,  perchance, 
the  mercury  sank  to  thirty  degrees  below  zero.  All  the 
fountains  of  nature  seem  to  be  sealed  up.  The  traveller 
is  frozen  on  his  way.  But  under  the  edge  of  yonder 
birch  wood  will  be  a  little  flock  of  crimson-breasted 
lesser  redpolls,  busily  feeding  on  the  seeds  of  the  birch 
and  shaking  down  the  powdery  snow !  As  if  a  flower 
were  created  to  be  now  in  bloom,  a  peach  to  be  now 

^  [The  "  Great  Snow  "  to  which  Thoreau  refers  several  times  in  his 
Journal  and  in  Walden  occurred  in  1780,  as  we  learn  from  the  entry 
■for  March  28,  1856.] 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     421 

first  fully  ripe  on  its  stem.  I  am  struck  by  the  perfect 
confidence  and  success  of  nature.  There  is  no  qiiestion 
about  the  existence  of  these  delicate  creatures,  their 
adaptedness  to  their  circumstances.  There  is  super- 
added superfluous  paintings  and  adornments,  a  crystal- 
line, jewel-like  health  and  soundness,  like  the  colors 
reflected  from  ice-crystals. 

When  some  rare  northern  bird  like  the  pine  grosbeak 
is  seen  thus  far  south  in  the  winter,  he  does  not  suggest 
poverty,  but  dazzles  us  with  his  beauty.  There  is  in  them 
a  warmth  akin  to  the  warmth  that  melts  the  icicle. 
Think  of  these  brilliant,  warm-colored,  and  richly  war- 
bling birds,  birds  of  paradise,  dainty-footed,  downy-clad, 
in  the  midst  of  a  New  England,  a  Canadian  winter. 
The  woods  and  fields,  now  somewhat  solitary,  being  de- 
serted by  their  more  tender  summer  residents,  are  now 
frequented  by  these  rich  but  delicately  tinted  and  hardy 
northern  immigrants  of  the  air.  Here  is  no  imperfection 
to  be  suggested.  The  winter,  with  its  snow  and  ice,  is 
not  an  evil  to  be  corrected.  It  is  as  it  was  designed  and 
made  to  be,  for  the  artist  has  had  leisure  to  add  beauty 
to  use.  My  acquaintances,  angels  from  the  north.  I  had 
a  vision  thus  prospectively  of  these  birds  as  I  stood  in 
the  swamps.  I  saw  this  familiar  —  too  familiar  —  fact 
at  a  different  angle,  and  I  was  charmed  and  haunted  by 
it.  But  I  could  only  attain  to  be  thrilled  and  enchanted, 
as  by  the  sound  of  a  strain  of  music  dying  away.  I  had 
seen  into  paradisaic  regions,  with  their  air  and  sky,  and 
I  was  no  longer  wholly  or  merely  a  denizen  of  this  vulgar 
earth.  Yet  had  I  hardly  a  foothold  there.  I  was  only 
sure  that  I  was  charmed,  and  no  mistake.    It  is  only 


422     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

necessary  to  behold  thus  the  least  fact  or  phenomenon, 
however  familiar,  from  a  point  a  hair's  breadth  aside 
froln  our  habitual  path  or  routine,  to  be  overcome,  en- 
chanted by  its  beauty  and  significance.  Only  what  we 
have  touched  and  worn  is  trivial,  —  our  scurf,  repeti- 
tion, tradition,  conformity.  To  perceive  freshly,  with 
fresh  senses,  is  to  be  inspired.  Great  winter  itself  looked 
like  a  precious  gem,  reflecting  rainbow  colors  from  oue 
angle. 

Dec.  21, 1855.  Going  to  the  post-office  at  9  a.  m.  this 
very  pleasant  morning,  I  hear  and  see  tree  sparrows  on 
Wheildon's  pines,  and  just  beyond  scare  a  downy  wood- 
pecker and  a  brown  creeper  in  company,  from  near  the 
base  of  a  small  elm  within  three  feet  of  me.  The  former 
dashes  off  with  a  loud  rippling  of  the  wing,  and'  the 
creeper  flits  across  the  street  to  the  base  of  another  small 
elm,  whither  I  follow.  At  first  he  hides  behind  the  base, 
but  ere  long  works  his  way  upward  and  comes  in  sight. 
He  is  a  gray-brown,  a  low  curve  from  point  of  beak  to 
end  of  tail,  resting  flat  against  the  tree. 

Dec.  30, 1855.  He  who  would  study  birds'  nests  must 
look  for  them  in  November  and  in  winter  as  well  as  in 
midsummer,  for  then  the  trees  are  bare  and  he  can  see 
them,  and  the  swamps  and  streams  are  frozen  and  he 
can  approach  new  kinds.  He  will  often  be  surprised  to 
find  how  many  have  haunted  where  he  little  suspected, 
and  will  receive  many  hints  accordingly,  which  he  can 
act  upon  in  the  summer.  I  am  surprised  to  find  many 
new  ones  (/.  e.  not  new  species)  in  groves  which  I 
had  examined  several  times  with  particular  care  in  the 
summer. 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     423 

Jan.  18,  1856.  Observed  some  of  those  little  hard 
galls  on  the  high  blueberry  pecked  or  eaten  into  by 
some  bird  (ox iiossibhj  mouse),  for  the  little  white  gitibs 
which  lie  curled  up  in  them.  What  entomologists  the 
birds  are !  Most  men  do  not  suspect  that  there  are  grubs 
in  them,  and  how  secure  the  latter  seem  under  these 
thick,  dry  shells  !  Yet  there  is  no  secret  but  it  is  confided 
to  some  one. 

Feb.  4, 1856.  I  have  often  wondered  how  red  cedars 
could  have  sprung  up  in  some  pastures  which  I  knew 
to  be  miles  distant  from  the  nearest  fruit-bearing  cedar, 
but  it  now  occurs  to  me  that  these  and  barberries, 
etc.,  may  be  planted  by  the  crows,  and  probably  other 
birds. 

Feh.  8, 1856.  E.  Garfield  says  there  were  many  quails 
here  last  fall,  but  that  they  are  suffering  now.  One 
night  as  he  was  spearing  on  Conant's  cranberry  meadow, 
just  north  the  pond,  his  dog  caught  a  sheldrake  in  the 
water  by  the  shore.  Some  days  ago  he  saw  what  he 
thought  a  hawk,  as  white  as  snow,  fly  over  the  pond, 
but  it  may  have  been  a  white  owl  (which  last  he  never 
saw).^  He  sometimes  sees  a  hen-hawk  in  the  winter,  but 
never  a  partridge  or  other  small  hawk  at  this  season. 
Speaks  again  of  that  large  speckled  hawk  he  killed 
once,  which  some  called  a  "Cape  eagle."  Had  a  hum- 
bird's  nest  behind  their  house  last  summer,  and  was 
amused  to  see  the  bird  drive  off  other  birds  ;  would  pur- 
sue a  robin  and  alight  on  his  back ;  let  none  come  near. 
I.  Garfield  saw  one's  nest  on  a  horizontal  branch  of  a 
white  pine  near  the  Charles  Miles  house,  about  seven 

^  Was  it  a  gyrfalcon  ? 


424    NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

feet  from  ground.  E.  Garfield  spoke  of  the  wren's  nest 
as  not  uncommon,  hang  in  the  grass  of  the  meadows, 
and  how  swiftly  and  easily  the  bird  would  run  through 
a  winrow  of  hay. 

Ajjril  9,  1856.  The  air  is  full  of  birds,  and  as  I  go 
down  the  causeway,  I  distinguish  the  seringo  note.  You 
have  only  to  come  forth  each  morning  to  be  surely  ad- 
vertised of  each  newcomer  into  these  broad  meadows. 
Many  a  larger  animal  might  be  concealed,  but  a  cun- 
ning ear  detects  the  arrival  of  each  new  species  of  bird. 
These  birds  give  evidence  that  they  prefer  the  fields  of 
New  England  to  all  other  climes,  deserting  for  them 
the  warm  and  fertile  south.  Here  is  their  paradise.  It 
is  here  they  express  the  most  happiness  by  song  and 
action.  Though  these  spring  mornings  may  often  be 
frosty  and  rude,  they  are  exactly  tempered  to  their  con- 
stitutions, and  call  forth  the  sweetest  strains. 

June  6, 1856.  How  well  suited  the  lining  of  a  bird's 
nest,  not  only  for  the  comfort  of  the  young,  but  to  keep 
the  eggs  from  breaking  !  Fine  elastic  grass  stems  or 
root-fibres,  pine-needles,  or  hair,  or  the  like.  These 
tender  and  brittle  things  which  you  can  hardly  carry  in 
cotton  lie  there  without  harm. 

JF^eh.  20,  1857.  What  is  the  relation  between  a  bird 
and  the  ear  that  appreciates  its  melody,  to  whom,  per- 
chance, it  is  more  charming  and  significant  than  to  any 
else  ?  Certainly  they  are  intimately  related,  and  the  one 
was  made  for  the  other.  It  is  a  natural  fact.  If  I  were 
to  discover  that  a  certain  kind  of  stone  by  the  pond- 
shore  was  affected,  say  partially  disintegrated,  by  a  par- 
ticular natural  sound,  as  of  a  bird  or  insect,  I  see  that 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     425 

one  could  not  be  completely  described  without  describ- 
ing the  other.  I  am  that  rock  by  the  pond-side. 

Sept.  7,  1857.  Returning  to  my  boat,  at  the  white 
maple,  I  see  a  small  round  flock  of  birds,  perhaps  black- 
birds, dart  through  the  air,  as  thick  as  a  charge  of  shot, 
—  now  comparatively  thin,  with  regular  intervals  of  sky 
between  them,  like  the  holes  in  the  strainer  of  a  water- 
ing-pot, now  dense  and  dark,  as  if  closing  up  their 
ranks  when  they  roll  over  one  another  and  stoop  down- 
ward. 

March  17,  1858.  Sitting'  under  the  handsome  scarlet 
oak  beyond  the  hill,  I  hear  a  faint  note  far  in  the  wood 
which  reminds  me  of  the  robin.  Again  I  hear  it ;  it  is 
he,  —  an  occasional  peep.  These  notes  of  the  earliest 
birds  seem  to  invite  forth  vegetation.  No  doubt  the 
plants  concealed  in  the  earth  hear  them  and  rejoice. 
They  wait  for  this  assurance. 

March  18,  1858.  How  much  more  habitable  a  few 
birds  make  the  fields !  At  the  end  of  winter,  when 
the  fields  are  bare  and  there  is  nothing  to  relieve  the 
monotony  of  the  withered  vegetation,  our  life  seems 
reduced  to  its  lowest  terms.  But  let  a  bluebird  come 
and  warble  over  them,  and  what  a  change !  The  note 
of  the  first  bluebird  in  the  air  answers  to  the  purling  rill 
of  melted  snow  beneath.  It  is  eminently  soft  and  sooth- 
ing, and,  as  surely  as  the  thermometer,  indicates  a  higher 
temperature.  It  is  the  accent  of  the  south  wind,  its  ver- 
nacular. It  is  modulated  by  the  south  wind.  The  song 
sparrow  is  more  sprightly,  mingling  its  notes  with  the 
rustling  of  the  brash  along  the  watersides,  but  it  is  at 
the  same  time  more  terrene  than  the  bluebird.    The 


426     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

first  woodpecker  comes  screaming  into  the  empty  house 
and  throws  open  doors  and  windows  wide,  calling  out 
each  of  them  to  let  the  neighbors  know  of  its  return. 
But  heard  further -off  it  is  very  suggestive  of  ineffable 
associations  which  cannot  be  distinctly  recalled,  —  of 
long-drawn  summer  hours,  —  and  thus  it,  also,  has  the 
effect  of  music.  I  was  not  aware  that  the  capacity  to 
hear  the  woodpecker  had  slumbered  within  me  so  long. 
When  the  blackbird  gets  to  a  conqueree  he  seems  to  be 
dreaming  of  the  sprays  that  are  to  be  and  on  which  he 
is  to  perch.  The  robin  does  not  come  singing,  but  utters 
a  somewhat  anxious  or  inquisitive  peep  at  first.  The 
song  sparrow  is  immediately  most  at  home  of  any  that 
I  have  named.  I  see  this  afternoon  as  many  as  a  dozen 
bluebirds  on  the  warm  side  of  a  wood. 

Each  new  year  is  a  surprise  to  us.  We  find  that  we 
had  virtually  forgotten  the  note  of  each  bird,  and  when 
we  hear  it  again  it  is  remembered  like  a  dream,  remind- 
ing us  of  a  previous  state  of  existence.  How  happens 
it  that  the  associations  it  awakens  are  always  pleasing, 
never  saddening ;  reminiscences  of  our  sanest  hours  ? 
The  voice  of  nature  is  always  encouraging. 

3fay  10, 1858.  It  is  remarkable  how  many  new  birds 
have  come  all  at  once  to-day.  The  hollow-sounding  note 
of  the  oven-bird  is  heard  from  the  depth  of  the  wood. 
The  warbling  vireo  cheers  the  elms  with  a  strain  for 
which  they  must  have  pined.  The  trees,  in  respect  to 
these  new  arrivers,  have  been  so  many  empty  music- 
halls.  The  oriole  is  seen  darting  like  a  bright  flash 
with  clear  whistle  from  one  tree-top  to  another  over  the 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     427 

street.  The  very  catbird's  mew  in  the  copse  harmonizes 
with  the  bare  twigs,  as  it  were  shaming  them  into  life 
and  verdure,  and  soon  he  mounts  upon  a  tree  and  is  a 
new  creature.  Toward  night  the  wood  thrush  ennobles 
the  wood  and  the  world  with  his  strain. 

June  7,  1858.  It  is  evidence  enough  against  crows 
and  hawks  and  owls,  proving  their  propensity  to  rob 
birds'  nests  of  eggs  and  young,  that  smaller  birds  pur- 
sue them  so  often.  You  do  not  need  the  testimony  of 
so  many  farmers'  boys  when  you  can  see  and  hear  the 
small  birds  daily  crying  "  Thief  and  murder  "  after  these 
spoilers.  What  does  it  signify,  the  kingbird,  blackbird, 
swallow,  etc.,  etc.,  pursuing  a  crow  ?  They  say  plainly 
enough :  "  I  know  you  of  old,  you  villain  ;  you  want  to 
devour  my  eggs  or  young.  I  have  often  caught  you  at 
it,  and  I  '11  publish  you  now."  And  probably  the  crow 
pursuing  the  fish  hawk  and  eagle  proves  that  the  latter 
sometimes  devour  their  young. 

June  16,  1858.  No  doubt  thousands  of  birds'  nests 
have  been  destroyed  by  the  flood,  —  blackbirds',  bobo- 
links', song  sparrows',  etc.  I  see  a  robin's  nest  high 
above  the  water  with  the  young  just  dead  and  the  old 
bird  in  the  water,  apparently  killed  by  the  abundance 
of  rain,  and  afterward  I  see  a  fresh  song  sparrow's  nest 
which  has  been  flooded  and  destroyed. 

July  16, 1858.  About  the  mountains  were  wilder  and 
rarer  birds,  more  or  less  arctic,  like  the  vegetation.  I 
did  not  even  hear  the  robin  on  them,  and  when  I  had 
left  them  a  few  miles  behind,  it  was  a  great  change  and 
surprise  to  hear  the  lark,  the  wood  jjewee,  the  robin, 
and  the  bobolink  (for  the  last  had  not  done  singing). 


428     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIEDS 

On  the  mountains,  especially  at  Tuckerman's  Ravine, 
the  notes  even  of  familiar  birds  sounded  strange  to  me. 
I  hardly  knew  the  wood  thrush  and  veery  and  oven- 
bird  at  first.  They  sing  differently  there.'  In  two  in- 
stances,—  going  down  the  Mt.  Jefferson  road  and  along 
the  road  in  the  Franconia  Notch,  —  I  started  an  F.  hye- 
malis  within  two  feet,  close  to  the  roadside,  but  looked 
in  vain  for  a  nest.  They  alight  and  sit  thus  close.  I 
doubt  if  the  chipping  sparrow  is  found  about  the  moun- 
tains. 

March  7,  1859.  It  is  a  good  plan  to  go  to  some  old 
orchard  on  the  south  side  of  a  hill,  sit  down,  and  listen, 
especially  in  the  morning  when  all  is  still.  You  can 
thus  often  hear  the  distant  warble  of  some  bluebird 
lately  arrived,  which,  if  you  had  been  walking,  would 
not  have  been  audible  to  you.  As  I  walk,  these  first 
mild  spring  days,  with  my  coat  thrown  open,  stepping 
over  tinkling  rills  of  melting  snow,  excited  by  the  sight 
of  the  bare  ground,  especially  the  reddish  subsoil  where 
it  is  exposed  by  a  cutting,  and  by  the  few  green  radical 
leaves,  I  stand  still,  shut  my  eyes,  and  listen  from  time 
to  time,  in  order  to  hear  the  note  of  some  bird  of  pas- 
sage just  arrived. 

April  8,  1859.  When  the  question  of  the  protection 
of  birds  comes  up,  the  legislatures  regard  only  a  low  use 
and  never  a  high  use  ;  the  best-disposed  legislators  em- 
ploy one,  perchance,  only  to  examine  their  crops  and  see 
how  many  grubs  or  cherries  they  contain,  and  never  to 
study  their  dispositions,  or  the  beauty  of  their  plumage, 

^  [His  wood  thrush  and  veery  of  Tuckerman's  Ravine  were  prohably 
the  olive-backed  thrush  and  Bicknell's  thrush,  respectively] 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     429 

or  listen  and  report  on  the  sweetness  of  their  song.  The 
legislature  will  preserve  a  bird  professedly  not  because 
it  is  a  beautiful  creature,  but  because  it  is  a  good  scav- 
enger or  the  like.  This,  at  least,  is  the  defense  set  up. 
It  is  as  if  the  question  were  whether  some  celebrated 
singer  of  the  human  race  —  some  Jenny  Lind  or  an- 
other—  did  more  harm  or  good,  should  be  destroyed, 
or  not,  and  therefore  a  committee  should  be  appointed, 
not  to  listen  to  her  singing  at  all,  but  to  examine  the 
contents  of  her  stomach  and  see  if  she  devoured  any- 
thing which  was  injurious  to  the  farmers  and  gardeners, 
or  which  they  cannot  spare. 

Sept.  1,  1859.  If  you  would  study  the  birds  now,  go 
where  their  food  is,  i.  e.  the  berries,  especially  to  the 
wild  black  cherries,  elder-berries,  poke  berries,  moun- 
tain-ash berries,  and  ere  long  the  barberries,  and  for 
pigeons  the  acorns.  In  the  sprout-land  behind  Britton's 
Camp,  I  came  to  a  small  black  cherry  full  of  fruit,  and 
then,  for  the  first  time  for  a  long  while,  I  see  and  hear 
cherry-birds  —  their  shrill  and  fine  seringo*  —  and  the 
note  of  robins,  which  of  late  are  scarce.  We  sit  near 
the  tree  and  listen  to  the  now  unusual  sounds  of  these 
birds,  and  from  time  to  time  one  or  two  come  dashing 
from  out  the  sky  toward  this  tree,  till,  seeing  us,  they 
whirl,  disappointed,  and  perhaps  alight  on  some  neigh- 
boring twigs  and  wait  till  we  are  gone.  The  cherry- 
birds  and  robins  seem  to  know  the  locality  of  every  wild 
cherry  in  the  town.  You  are  as  sure  to  find  them  on  them 
now,  as  bees  and  butterflies  on  the  thistles.  If  we  stay 

^  [Thoreau's  word  for  a  note  of  the  quality  of  the  cedar  waxwing's. 
See  pp.  290  note,  291.] 


430     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

long,  they  go  off  with  a  fling,  to  some  other  cherry  tree, 
which  they  know  of  but  we  do  not.  The  neighborhood 
of  a  wild  cherry  full  of  fruit  is  now,  for  the  notes  of 
birds,  a  little  spring  come  back  again,  and  when,  a  mile 
or  two  from  this,  I  was  plucking  a  basketful  of  elder- 
berries (for  which  it  was  rather  early  yet),  there  too, 
to  my  surprise,  I  came  on  a  flock  of  golden  robins  and 
of  bluebirds,  apparently  feeding  on  them.  Excepting 
the  vacciniums,  now  past  prime  and  drying  up,  the 
cherries  and  elder-berries  are  the  two  prevailing  fruits 
now.  We  had  remarked  on  the  general  scarcity  and 
silence  of  the  birds,  but  when  we  came  to  the  localities 
of  these  fruits,  there  again  we  found  the  berry-eating 
birds  assembled,  —  young  (?)  orioles  and  bluebirds  at 
the  elder-berries. 

Nov.  11, 1859.  Also,  October  24th,  riding  home  from 
Acton,  I  saw  the  withered  leaves  blown  from  an  oak  by 
the  roadside  dashing  off,  gyrating,  and  surging  upward 
into  the  air,  so  exactly  like  a  flock  of  birds  sporting  with 
one  another  that,  for  a  minute  at  least,  I  could  not  be 
sure  they  were  not  birds  ;  and  it  suggested  how  far  the 
motions  of  birds,  like  those  of  these  leaves,  might  be 
determined  by  currents  of  air,  i.  e.,  how  far  the  bird 
learns  to  conform  to  such  currents. 

Jan.  5,  1860.  How  much  the  snow  reveals!  I  see 
where  the  downy  woodpecker  has  worked  lately  by  the 
chips  of  bark  and  rotten  wood  scattered  over  the  snow, 
though  I  rarely  see  him  in  the  winter.  Once  to-day,  how- 
ever, I  hear  his  sharp  voice,  even  like  a  woodchuck's. 
Also  I  have  occasionally  seen  where  (probably)  a  flock 
of  goldfinches  in  the  morning  ^:ad  settled  on  a  hemlock's 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     431 

top,  by  the  snow  strewn  with  scales,  literally  blackened 
or  darkened  with  them  for  a  rod.  And  now,  about  the 
hill  in  front  of  Smith's,  I  see  where  the  quails  have  run 
along  the  roadside,  and  can  count  the  number  of  the 
bevy  better  than  if  I  saw  them.  Are  they  not  peculiar 
in  this,  as  compared  with  partridges,  —  that  they  run 
in  company,  while  at  this  season  I  see  but  [one]  or  two 
partridges  together? 

Jan.  22, 1860.  Birds  are  commonly  very  rare  in  the 
winter.  They  are  much  more  common  at  some  times 
than  at  others.  I  see  more  tree  sparrows  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  winter  (especially  when  snow  is  falling)  than 
in  the  course  of  it.  I  think  that  by  observation  I  could 
tell  in  what  kind  of  weather  afterward  these  were  most 
to  be  seen.  Crows  come  about  houses  and  streets  in 
very  cold  weather  and  deep  snows,  and  they  are  heard 
cawing  in  pleasant,  thawing  winter  weather,  and  their 
note  is  then  a  pulse  by  which  you  feel  the  quality  of  the 
air,  i.  e.,  when  cocks  crow.  For  the  most  part,  lesser 
redpolls  and  pine  grosbeaks  do  not  appear  at  all.  Snow 
buntings  are  very  wandering.  They  were  quite  numer- 
ous a  month  ago,  and  now  seem  to  have  quit  the  town. 
They  seem  to  ramble  about  the  country  at  will. 

Jan.  29,  1860.  Not  only  the  Indian,  but  many  wild 
birds  and  quadrupeds  and  insects,  welcomed  the  apple 
tree  to  these  shores.  As  it  grew  apace,  the  bluebird, 
robin,  cherry-bird,  kingbird,  and  many  more  came  with 
a  rush  and  built  their  nests  in  it,  and  so  became  orchard- 
birds.  The  woodpecker  found  such  a  savory  morsel 
under  its  bark  that  he  perforated  it  in  a  ring  quite  round 
the  tree,  a  thing  he  had  never  done  before.  It  did  not 


432     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

take  the  partridge  long  to  find  out  how  sweet  its  buds 
were,  and  every  winter  day  she  flew  and  still  flies  from 
the  wood  to  pluck  them,  much  to  the  farmer's  sorrow. 
The  rabbit  too  was  not  slow  to  learn  the  taste  of  its  twigs 
and  bark.  The  owl  crept  into  the  first  one  that  became 
hollow,  and  fairly  hooted  with  delight,  finding  it  just 
the  place  for  him.  He  settled  down  into  it,  and  has 
remained  there  ever  since.  The  lackey  caterpillar  sad- 
dled her  eggs  on  the  very  first  twig  that  was  formed, 
and  it  has  since  divided  her  affections  with  the  wild 
cherry;  and  the  canker-worm  also  in  a  measure  aban- 
doned the  elm  to  feed  on  it.  And  when  the  fruit  was 
ripe,  the  squirrel  half  carried,  half  rolled,  it  to  his  hole, 
and  even  the  musquash  crept  up  the  bank  and  greedily 
devoured  it ;  and  when  it  was  frozen  and  thawed,  the 
crow  and  jay  did  not  disdain  to  peck  it.  And  the 
beautiful  wood  duck,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  stay 
a  while  longer  with  us,  has  concluded  that  there  is  no 
better  place  for  her  too. 

Aug.  28,  1860.  There  was  no  prolonged  melody  of 
birds  on  the  summit  of  Monadnock.  They  for  the  most 
part  emitted  sounds  there  more  in  harmony  with  the 
silent  rocks, —  a  faint  chipping  or  chinking,  often  some- 
what as  of  two  stones  struck  together. 

Sept.  1,  1860.  See  how  artfully  the  seed  of  a  cherry 
is  placed  in  order  that  a  bird  may  be  compelled  to 
transport  it.  It  is  placed  in  the  very  midst  of  a  tempting 
pericarp,  so  that  the  creature  that  would  devour  a  cherry 
must  take  a  stone  into  its  mouth.  The  bird  is  bribed 
with  the  pericarp  to  take  the  stone  with  it  and  do  this 
little  service  for  Nature.   Cherries  are  especially  birds' 


GENERAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS     433 

food,  and  many  kinds  are  called  birds'  cherry,  and  un- 
less we  plant  the  seeds  occasionally,  I  shall  think  the 
birds  have  the  best  right  to  them.  Thus  a  bird's  wing 
is  added  to  the  cherry-stone  which  was  wingless,  and  it 
does  not  wait  for  winds  to  transport  it. 

Oct.  7,  1860.  Rice  ^  says  that  when  a  boy,  playing 
with  darts  with  his  brother  Israel,  one  of  them  sent  up 
his  dart  when  a  flock  of  crows  was  going  over.  One  of 
the  crows  followed  it  down  to  the  earth,  picked  it  up, 
and  flew  off  with  it  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  it  dropped 
it.  He  has  observed  that  young  wood  ducks  swim  faster 
than  the  old,  which  is  a  fortunate  provision,  for  they 
can  thus  retreat  and  hide  in  the  weeds  while  their  parents 
fly  off.  He  says  that  you  must  shoot  the  little  dipper  as 
soon  as  it  comes  up,  —  before  the  water  is  fairly  off  its 
eyes,  —  else  it  will  dive  at  the  flash. 

^  [Reuben  Rice,  of  Concord.] 


XXIII 
DOMESTIC   BIRDS 

DUCKS 

April  7,  1853.  Approach  near  to  Simon  Brown's 
ducks,  on  river.  They  are  continually  bobbing  their 
heads  under  water  in  a  shallow  part  of  the  meadow, 
more  under  water  than  above.  I  infer  that  the  wild 
employ  themselves  likewise.  You  are  most  struck  with 
the  apparent  ease  with  which  they  glide  away,  —  not 
seeing  the  motion  of  their  feet,  —  as  by  their  wills. 

June  29,  1856.  A  man  by  the  riverside  ^  told  us  that 
he  had  two  young  ducks  which  he  let  out  to  seek  their 
food  along  the  riverside  at  low  tide  that  morning.  At 
length  he  noticed  that  one  remained  stationary  amid  the 
grass  or  salt  weeds  and  something  prevented  its  follow- 
ing the  other.  He  went  to  its  rescue  and  found  its  foot 
shut  tightly  in  a  quahog's  shell  amid  the  grass  which 
the  tide  had  left.  He  took  up  all  together,  carried  to  his 
house,  and  his  wife  opened  the  shell  with  a  knife,  re- 
leased the  duck,  and  cooked  the  quahog. 

[/S'ee  also  under  Horned  Grebe,  pp.  1,  2;  Domestic 
Fowl,  p.  436.] 

DOMESTIC    FOWL 

July  11,  1851.  And  now,  at  half-past  10  o'clock,  I 

hear  the  cockerels  crow  in  Hubbard's  barns,  and  morn- 

^  [In  New  Bedford,  where  Thoreau  was  visiting  Mr.  Daniel  Ricket- 
son.] 


DOMESTIC   FOWL  435 

ing  is  already  anticipated.  It  is  the  feathered,  wakeful 
thought  in  us  that  anticipates  the  following  day.  This 
sound  is  wonderfully  exhilarating  at  all  times.  These 
birds  are  worth  far  more  to  me  for  their  crowing  and 
cackling  than  for  their  drumsticks  and  eggs.  How 
singular  the  connection  of  the  hen  with  man,  —  that 
she  leaves  her  eggs  in  his  barns  always !  She  is  a  domes- 
tic fowl,  though  still  a  little  shyish  of  him.  I  cannot 
help  looking  at  the  whole  as  an  experiment  still  and 
wondering  that  in  each  case  it  succeeds.  There  is  no 
doubt  at  last  but  hens  may  be  kept.  They  will  put  their 
eggs  in  your  barn  by  a  tacit  agreement.  They  will  not 
wander  far  from  your  yard. 

July  19,  1851.  I  see  that  hens,  too,  follow  the  cows 
feeding  near  the  house,  like  the  cow  troopial,  and  for 
the  same  object.  They  cannot  so  well  scare  up  insects 
for  themselves.  This  is  the  dog  the  cowbird  uses  to 
start  up  its  insect  game. 

July  22,  1851.  I  hear  the  cockerels  crow  through 
it,*  and  the  rich  crow  of  young  roosters,  that  sound  in- 
dicative of  the  bravest,  rudest  health,  hoarse  without 
cold,  hoarse  with  rude  health.  That  crow  is  all-nature- 
compelling;  famine  and  pestilence  flee  before  it. 

Jan.  15,  1852.  It  is  good  to  see  Minott's  hens  peck- 
ing and  scratching  the  ground.  What  never-failing 
health  they  suggest !  Even  the  sick  hen  is  so  naturally 
sick,  —  like  a  green  leaf  turning  to  brown.  No  wonder 
men  love  to  have  hens  about  them  and  hear  their  creak- 
ing note.  They  are  even  laying  eggs  from  time  to  time 
still, —  the  undespairing  race! 
1  [Fog.] 


436     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

June  17,  1852.  I  hear  the  universal  cock-crowing 
with  surprise  and  pleasure,  as  if  I  never  heard  it  before. 
What  a  tough  fellow !  How  native  to  the  earth  !  Neither 
wet  nor  dry,  cold  nor  warm,  kills  him. 

July  6,  1852.  When  the  hen  hatches  ducks  they  do 
not  mind  her  clucking.  They  lead  the  hen.  Chickens 
and  ducks  are  well  set  on  the  earth.  What  great  legs 
they  have!  This  part  is  early  developed.  A  perfect 
Antseus  is  a  young  duck  in  this  respect,  deriving  a 
steady  stream  of  health  and  strength,  for  he  rarely  gets 
off  it,  ready  either  for  land  or  water.  Nature  is  not  on 
her  last  legs  yet.  A  chick's  stout  legs !  If  they  were  a 
little  larger  they  would  injure  the  globe's  tender  organi- 
zation with  their  scratching.  Then,  for  digestion,  consider 
their  crops  and  what  they  put  into  them  in  the  course  of 
a  day !  Consider  how  well  fitted  to  endure  the  fatigue  of 
a  day's  excursion.  A  young  chick  will  run  all  day  in  pur- 
suit of  grasshoppers  and  occasionally  vary  its  exercise  by 
scratching,  go  to  bed  at  night  with  protuberant  crop,  and 
get  up  early  in  the  morning  ready  for  a  new  start. 

July  25,  1852.  As  I  came  along,  the  whole  earth 
resounded  with  the  crowing  of  cocks,  from  the  eastern 
unto  the  western  horizon,  and  as  I  passed  a  yard,  I  saw 
a  white  rooster  on  the  topmost  rail  of  a  fence  pouring 
forth  his  challenges  for  destiny  to  come  on.  This  salu- 
tation was  travelling  round  the  world  ;  some  six  hours 
since  had  resounded  through  England,  France,  and 
Spain  ;  then  the  sun  passed  over  a  belt  of  silence  where 
the  Atlantic  flows,  except  a  clarion  here  and  there  from 
some  cooped-up  cock  upon  the  waves,  till  greeted  with 
a  general  all-hail  along  the  Atlantic  shore. 


I 


I 


DOMESTIC   FOWL  437 

April  2,  1853.  The  farmers  are  trembling  for  their 
poultry  nowadays.  I  heard  the  scream  of  hens,  and  a 
tumult  among  their  mistresses  (at  Dugan's},  calling 
them  and  scaring  away  the  hawk,  yesterday.  They  say 
they  do  not  lose  by  hawks  in  midsummer.  White  quotes 
Linnaeus  as  saying  of  hawks, "  Paciscuntur  induciascum 
avibus,  quamdiu  cuculus  cuculat,"  but  White  doubts  it.* 

tlu7ie  2, 1853.  The  birds  are  wide  awake,  as  if  know- 
ing that  this  fog  presages  a  fair  day.  I  ascend  Naw- 
shawtuct  from  the  north  side.  I  am  aware  that  I  yield 
to  the  same  influence  which  inspires  the  birds  and  the 
cockerels,  whose  hoarse  courage  I  hear  now  vaunted. 
So  men  should  crow  in  the  morning.  I  would  crow  like 
chanticleer  in  the  morning,  with  all  the  lustiness  that 
the  new  day  imparts,  without  thinking  of  the  evening, 
when  I  and  all  of  us  shall  go  to  roost,  —  with  all  the 
humility  of  the  cock,  that  takes  his  perch  upon  the 
highest  rail  and  wakes  the  country  with  his  clarion. 
Shall  not  men  be  inspii'ed  as  much  as  cockerels  ? 

JVov.  23,  1853.  The  cocks  are  the  only  birds  I  hear, 
but  they  are  a  host.  They  crow  as  freshly  and  bravely 
as  ever,  while  poets  go  down  the  stream,  degenerate 
into  science  and  prose. 

Oct.  19,  1855.  Therien  tells  me,  when  I  ask  if  he  has 
seen  or  heard  any  large  birds  lately,  that  he  heard  a 
cock  crow  this  morning,  a  wild  one,  in  the  woods.  It 
seems  a  dozen  fowls  (chickens)  were  lost  out  of  the  cars 
here  a  fortnight  ago.  Poland  has  caught  some,  and  they 

^  [Gilbert  White,  Natural  History  of  Selborne,  letter  of  Sept.  13, 
1774,  to  Daines  Barrington.  "  They  make  a  truce  with  the  birds  as  long 
as  the  cuckoo  siugs."] 


438     NOTES   ON   NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

have  one  at  the  shanty,  but  this  cock,  at  least,  is  still 
abroad  and  can't  be  caught.  If  they  could  survive  the  win- 
ter, I  suppose  we  should  have  had  wild  hens  before  now. 

July  25,  1856.  The  haymakers  getting  in  the  hay 
from  Hubbard's  meadow  tell  me  the  cock  says  we  are 
going  to  have  a  long  spell  of  dry  weather  or  else  very 
wet.  "  Well,  there  's  some  difference  between  them,"  I 
answer  ;  "  how  do  you  know  it?  "  "  I  just  heard  a  cock 
crow  at  noon,  and  that 's  a  sure  sign  it  will  either  be 
very  dry  or  very  wet." 

Dec.  4,  1856.  Sophia  says  that  just  before  I  came 
home  Min  ^  caught  a  mouse  and  was  playing  with  it  in 
the  yard.  It  had  got  away  from  her  once  or  twice,  and 
she  had  caught  it  again ;  and  now  it  was  stealing  off 
again,  as  she  lay  complacently  watching  it  with  her 
paws  tucked  under  her,  when  her  friend  Riordan's  stout 
but  solitary  cock  stepped  up  inquisitively,  looked  down 
at  it  with  one  eye,  turning  his  head,  then  picked  it  up 
by  the  tail  and  gave  it  two  or  three  whacks  on  the 
ground,  and  giving  it  a  dexterous  toss  into  the  air, 
caught  it  in  its  open  mouth,  and  it  went  head  foremost 
and  alive  down  his  capacious  throat  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  never  again  to  be  seen  in  this  world,  Min, 
all  the  while,  with  paws  comfortably  tucked  under  her, 
looking  on  unconcerned.  What  matters  it  one  mouse 
more  or  less  to  her?  The  cock  walked  off  amid  the 
currant  bushes,  stretched  his  neck  up,  and  gulped  once 
or  twice,  and  the  deed  was  accomplished,  and  then  he 
crowed  lustily  in  celebration  of  the  exploit.  It  might 
be  set  down  among  the  gesta  (if  not  digesta)  Gallorum. 
^  [The  Thoreaus'  cat.J 


DOMESTIC   FOWL  439 

There  were  several  human  witnesses.  It  is  a  question 
whether  Min  ever  understood  where  that  mouse  went  to. 

Feb.  4,  1857.  Minott  says  that  Dr.  Heywood  used  to 
have  a  crazy  hen  (and  he,  too,  has  had  one).  She  went 
about  by  herself  uttering  a  peevish  craw  craw,  and  did 
not  lay.  One  day  he  was  going  along  on  the  narrow  penin- 
sula of  Goose  Pond  looking  for  ducks,  away  in  Walden 
Woods  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Heywood's,  when  he 
met  this  very  hen,  which  passed  close  by  him,  uttering 
as  usual  a  faint  craw  craw.  He  knew  her  perfectly  well, 
and  says  that  he  was  never  so  surprised  at  anything 
in  his  life.  How  she  had  escaped  the  foxes  and  hawks 
was  more  than  he  knew. 

Feb.  8,  1857.  Hiordan's  solitary  cock,  standing  on 
such  an  icy  snow-heap,  feels  the  influence  of  the  soft- 
ened air,  and  the  steam  from  patches  of  bare  ground 
here  and  there,  and  has  found  his  voice  again.  The 
warm  air  has  thawed  the  music  in  his  throat,  and  he 
crows  lustily  and  unweariedly,  his  voice  rising  to  the 
last. 

April  26,  1857.  Riordan's  cock  follows  close  after 
me  while  spading  in  the  garden,  and  hens  commonly 
follow  the  gardener  and  ploughman,  just  as  cowbirds 
the  cattle  in  a  pasture. 

Sept.  30, 1857.  Talked  with  Minott,  who  was  sitting, 
as  usual,  in  his  wood-shed.  His  hen  and  chickens,  find- 
ing it  cold  these  nights  on  the  trees  behind  the  house, 
had  begun  last  night  to  roost  in  the  shed,  and  one  by 
one  walked  or  hopped  up  a  ladder  within  a  foot  of  his 
shoulder  to  the  loft  above.  He  sits  there  so  much  like 
a  fixture  that  they  do  not  regard  him.  It  has  got  to  be 


440     NOTES   ON  NEW   ENGLAND   BIRDS 

so  cool,  then,  that  tender  chickens  seek  a  shelter  at 
night ;  but  I  saw  the  hens  at  Clark's  (the  R.  Brown 
house)  were  still  going  to  roost  in  the  apple  trees. 

Oct.  1, 1858.  Let  a  full-grown  but  young  cock  stand 
near  you.  How  full  of  life  he  is,  from  the  tip  of  his  bill 
through  his  trembling  wattles  and  comb  and  his  bright 
eye  to  the  extremity  of  his  clean  toes !  How  alert  and 
restless,  listening  to  every  sound  and  watching  every 
motion !  How  various  his  notes,  from  the  finest  and 
shrillest  alarum  as  a  hawk  sails  over,  surpassing  the 
most  accomplished  violinist  on  the  short  strings,  to  a 
hoarse  and  terrene  voice  or  cluck !  He  has  a  word  for 
every  occasion,  —  for  the  dog  that  rushes  past,  and  part- 
let  cackling  in  the  barn.  And  then  how,  elevating  him- 
self and  flapping  his  wings,  he  gathers  impetus  and  air 
and  launches  forth  that  world-renowned  ear-piercing 
strain !  not  a  vulgar  note  of  defiance,  but  the  mere 
effervescence  of  life,  like  the  bursting  of  a  bubble  in  a 
wine-cup.  Is  any  gem  so  bright  as  his  eye  ? 

Aug.  6,  1860.  I  heard  a  cock  crow  very  shrilly  and 
distinctly  early  in  the  evening  of  the  8th.  ^  This  was  the 
most  distinct  sound  from  the  lower  world  that  I  heard 
up  there  at  any  time,  not  excepting  even  the  railroad 
whistle,  which  was  louder.  It  reached  my  ear  perfectly, 
to  each  note  and  curl,  —  from  some  submontane  cock. 
We  also  heard  at  this  hour  an  occasional  bleat  from  a 
sheep  in  some  mountain  pasture,  and  a  lowing  of  a  cow. 
And  at  last  we  saw  a  light  here  and  there  in  a  farmhouse 
window.  We  heard  no  sound  of  man  except  the  railroad 
whistle  and,  on  Sunday,  a  church-bell.   Heard  no  dog 

^  [Id  camp  on  the  soiuiuit  of  Mt.  Monadnock.] 


PARROT  441 

that  I  remember.  Therefore  I  should  say  that,  of  all 
the  sounds  of  the  farmhouse,  the  crowing  of  the  cock 
could  be  heard  furthest  or  most  distinctly  under  these 
circumstances.  It  seemed  to  wind  its  way  through  the 
layers  of  air  as  a  sharp  gimlet  through  soft  wood,  and 
reached  our  ears  with  amusing  distinctness. 

DOMESTIC   PIGEON 

April  16,1855.  I  am  startled  sometimes  these  morn- 
ings to  hear  the  sound  of  doves  alighting  on  the  roof 
just  over  my  head;  they  come  down  so  hard  upon  it, 
as  if  one  had  thrown  a  heavy  stick  on  to  it,  and  I  wonder 
it  does  not  injure  their  organizations.  Their  legs  must 
be  cushioned  in  their  sockets  to  save  them  from  the 
shock  ? 

PARROT 

May  21, 1857.  I  saw  yesterday  a  parrot  exceedingly 
frightened  in  its  cage  at  a  window.  It  rushed  to  the 
bars  and  struggled  to  get  out.  A  piece  of  board  had 
been  thrown  from  the  window  above  to  the  ground, 
which  probably  the  parrot's  instinct  had  mistaken  for 
a  hawk.  Their  eyes  are  very  open  to  danger  from 
above. 


FOli  INDEX  TO  MAP  SEE  OVEli 


FOI!  ISDE.X  TO  MM'  .S££  OVEU 


o 


NOTE  TO  MAP  OK  CO\( ORI) 

The  material  used  in  tins  Mai)  "f  ("oneoid  has  been  derived  from  a 
variety  of  sources.  The  town  Ixniiids,  streets,  and  residences  liave  Ihcii 
taken  from  a  township  map  of  MidcUesex  Connty  made  hy  II.  F.  WalUnp 
in  185(),  reference  also  being  had  to  a  local  maj)  of  Concord  by  the  same 
engineer,  dated  KS.VJ,  on  which  credit  for  the  surveys  of  ^\'hite  Pond  and 
Walden  Pond  is  given  to  "  II.  1).  Thoreau,  ("iv.  Eng'."  The  course  of 
the  Concord  River  is  drawn  from  an  elaborate  manuscript  plan  of  Tho- 
reau's,  based  on  earlier  surveys,  showing  the  river  from  East  .Sudbury 
to  Billerica  Uam.  This  plan,  on  which  Thoreau  has  entered  the  results 
of  his  investigation  of  tiie  river  in  the  summer  of  l.S.7.1,  is  now  in  the 
Concord  Public  Library.  Tlie  outlines  of  Walden  and  White  Ponds 
have  also  been  taken  from  Thoreau's  original  surveys,  now  in  the  Con- 
cord Library.  Loring's  and  Hateman's  Ponds  are  according  to  surveys 
by  Mr.  Albert  E.  Wood  of  Concord,  and  Flint's  Pond  is  from  a  survey 
for  the  t^oncord  Water  Works  by  Mr.  \\'illiani  Wlieeler,  also  of  Concord. 

All  names  of  places  are  those  used  by  Thoreau,  no  attention  being 
given  to  other  names  perhaps  more  current  either  in  his  own  time  or  at 
])resent.  Only  such  names  of  residents  are  given  as  are  mentioned  in 
the  Journal. 

A  few  old  wood  roads,  pasture  lanes,  etc.  (Thoreau's  preferred  high- 
ways), are  indicated,  as  to  their  general  direction,  by  dotted  lines. 

The  irregularity  of  the  northeastern  boundary  of  Concord  arose  from 
the  fact  that  when  Carlisle  was  set  off  from  Concord  in  17.S0,  the  farmers 
living  on  the  border  were  given  the  option  of  remaining  within  th« 
bounds  of  Concord  or  of  being  included  in  the  new  town.  In  1!M);<  the 
Massachusetts  Legislature  abolished  this  old  division  and  continued 
the  straight  line  forming  the  western  half  of  the  boundary  directly  to 
the  river. 

The  identification  of  localities  which  were  named  by  Thoreau  ai)par- 
ently  for  his  personal  u.se  alone  has  been  accomplished,  so  far  as  it  has 
proceeded,  by  a  careful  study  of  all  the  .lournal  references  to  each  local- 
ity, an  examination  of  a  large  number  of  Thoreau's  manuscript  surveys, 
and  an  extended  personal  investigation  on  the  ground.  Many  of  these 
locjilities  are  given  more  than  one  name  in  the  Journal,  and  in  a  few 
cases  the  same  name  is  given  to  different  localities.  Where  doubt  exists 
as  to  any  particular  location,  the  name  is  omitted  from  the  map. 

Hon.  F.  B.  Sanborn,  Judge  John  S.  Keyes,  Dr.  Edward  W.  Emerson, 
the  Misses  Ilosmer,  and  others  among  the  older  residents  of  Concord 
have  been  consulted  in  the  invjiaration  of  the  map,  and  have  kindly 
supplied  helpful  information  from  their  personal  accjuaintancc!  with 
Thoreau. 

H.  W.  Glkason. 

December,  I'JOG. 


INDEX  TO   MAP   OF   CONCORD 

Fi"ures  in  parentheses  correspond  with  fi^'ures  on  the  map.  A  letter  and  ligure  comhined  indicate  the  space  with- 
in wlfich  the  locality  may  be  found,  this  space  liein^'  determined  by  the  intersection  ot  imaginary  lines  drawn  Irom 
the  corresponding  letter  and  figure  in  the  margin. 


(5) 


(10) 


(11) 
(1-) 
(13) 


(1-1) 
(15) 
(IG) 
(17) 


(18) 


Agricultural  Fair  Ground.  F  7 
Alcott,  A.  Biouson.  F  S 
Almshouse.  G  T 
Andromeda,  or  Cassan- 
dra, Ponds.  J  T 
Aunursnack  Hill.  D  3 
Arethiisa  Meadow.  H  G 
Assabet  Bath.  E  5 
Assabet  River,  or  North 

Brancli.  E5 

Assabet  Spring.  E  5 
Assabet  Stone  Bridge. 
(See  One-Arch  Bridge.) 
Austin,  L.  H.                      KIO 

Back  Road.  6  G 

Baker,  Jacob.  J  8 

Baker,  James.  J  8 

Baker  Bridge.  J  8 

Baker  Farm.  K  7 

Bairs  Hill.  D'J 
Bare  Hill. 

(See  Pine  Hill.) 

Barrett,  G.  M.  E4 

Barrett,  Nathan.  D7 

Barrett,  Prescott.  E5 

Barrett,  Sam.  E  5 

Barrett's  Bar.  D  8 

Barrett's  Pond.  D5 
Barrett's  Saw  and  Grist 

Mills.  Ef) 

Bartlett,  Dr.  F  7 

Bateman's  Pond.  C  G 
Battle-Ground. 
(See  Old  North  Bridge.) 

Bear  Garden  Hill.  H  G 

Bear  Hill.  J '.) 

Beaver  Pond.  L  1 1 

Beck  Stow's  Swamp.  E  H 

Bedford  Levels.  F  10 

Bedford  Road  (new).  E  8 

Bedford  Road  (old).  E  9 
Bidens  Brook. 

(See  Pole  Brook.) 

Bigelow,  F.  E.  F  7 

Bittern,  or  Tupelo,  Cliff.  J  G 

Blood,  Perez.  B  8 

Blood's  Pasture.  B  8 

Boaz's  Meadow.  C  G 

Boiling  Spring.  H  G 
Boston,     or    Lexington, 

Road.  F  8 
Botrychium  Swamp. 
(See  Yellow  Birch  Swamp.) 
Boulder  Field.  C  7 
Bound  Rock.  L.5 
Brigham,  J.  G.  KG 
Brister's  Hill.  G  8 
Bri.ster's  Spring.  G  8 
Britton's  Camp.  H  9 
Britton's  Hollow.  G9 
Brooks,  A.  FT 
Brooks,  Geo.  D  4 
Brown,  J.  P.  G  5 
Brown's  (J.  P.)  Pond- 
Hole,  or  Cold  Pool.  H4 
Brown,  Simon.  E  G 
Brown,  Wm.  B  5 
Bull,  E.  W.  F  8 


Button-bush  Pond. 

(See  Clematis  Pond.) 
Buttrick,  Abner.  DS 

Buttrick,  Stedman.  D  7 

Buttrick's  Hill.  C  8 

Calla  Swamp.  BG 

(19)  Callitriche  Pool.  G8 
Cambridge  Turnpike.  G  8 
Canoe  Birch  Road.              Ko 

(20)  Cardinal  Shore.  H  G 
Carlisle  Bridge.  A  9 
Carlisle  Reach.  B  9 
Cassandra  Ponds. 

(See  Andromeda  Ponds.) 
Cedar  Hill.  J  10 

Cedar  Swamp,  White.        D  4 
(■21)Channing,  W.  E.  FG 

(22)  Cheney,  J.  M.  F  G 

(23)  Clamshell  Bank  or  Hill.    G  0 

(24)  Clamshell,     or      Sunset, 

Reach.  G  5 

Clark,  Brooks.  DG 

Clark,  D.  DG 

Clark,  Jo.seph,  D  G 

Clematis  Brook.  K  7 

(25)  Clematis,  Bntton-bush,  or 

Nightshade,  Pond.  K  7 

(26)  Cliffs.  J  7 

(27)  Clintonia  Swamp.  G  8 
Cold  Brook.  L4 
College  Road.                       D  4 

(28)  Columbine  Cliff.  J  G 

(29)  Common.  F  7 
Conant,  E.  J  5 

(30)  Conant  House,  Site  of  Old.  J  G 
Conantum,  J  G 
Copan.  D  9 
Corner  Bridge. 

(See  Lee's  Bridge.) 
Corner  Road.  H  G 

Corner  Spring.  H  5 

County  House.  F7 

Conrt-House.  F7 

Creel  Brook. 

(See  Pole  Brook.) 
Curly-Pate  Hill.  B  G 

Cyanean  Meadow.  G  5 

Dakin,  E.  E  6 

Dakin,  Dea.  L.  K  3 

Dakin's  Brook. 

(See  Dodge's  Brook.) 
Damon's  Mills. 
Davis's  Hill. 
Deep  Cut. 
Dennis,  S. 
Dennis's  Lupine  Hill   or 

Promontory. 
Derby,  J. 
Derby's  Bridge. 
Diving-Ash. 
Dodge's,      or      Dakin's, 

Brook. 
Dodd,  J.  M. 
Dove  Rock. 
Dugan,  Jenny. 
Dugan  Desert. 
Dunge  Hole  Brook. 
Easterbrook  Country. 


(31) 
(32) 
(33) 


(34) 


(35) 


(36) 


(37) 
(38) 

(39) 


G.". 
C9 
H7 
G5 

G5 
F4 
F4 

D8 

DG 
FG 
EG 
H4 
H4 
K5 
CG 


(40)  Easterbrook  House.  Site 

of.  CG 
Echo  Wood. 
(See  Holden  Wood.) 
Eddy  Bridge. 
(See  One-Arcli  Bridge.) 

(41)  Egg  Rock.  EG 

(42)  Eltin  Burial-Groimd.  G  4 
Emerson's  Cliff.  H  8 
Emerson,  R.  W.  F7 

(43)  Everett,  Geo.  G  9 
Fair  Haven  Hill.  H  7 
Fair  Haven  Pond  or  Bay.  J  7 

(44)  Fair  Haven  Pond  Island 

(at  high  water).  J  7 

Farmer,  J.  B.  D  5 

Farmer's  Cliff'.  C  0 

Farrar,  Dea.  James.  L7 

(45)  Farrar's  Blacksmith  Shop. 6  G 
Fitchburg  Railroad.  G  7 
Flint,  J.  E7 
Flint's,  or  North,  Bridge.  E7 
Flint's,  or  Sandy,  Pond.  J  10 
Fort  Pond  Brook.  F2 
Fox  Castle  Swamp. 

(See  Owl- Nest  Swamp.) 

(4G)  French's  Rock.  E7 

(47)  Frost,  B.  FG 
Garfield,  D.  J  5 

(48)  Garrison,  J.  F7 

(49)  Gentian  Lane.  E7 

(50)  Goodwin,  John.  G  G 
Goose  Pond.  H8 

(51)Gourgas,  F.  R.  F7 

Gowing,  J.  F9 

Gowing"s  Swamp.  F9 

Great  Fields.  F  8 

Great  Meadows.  D  8 

Green,  Lsaiah.  A  7 

Groton  Road.  E  3 

Hapeood,  S.  C  3 

Harrington,  J.  G  3 

(52)  Harrington's  Spring.  G3 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel.  F8 

Hayden,  E.  G  66 

Hayward,!  J.  E4 

Hayward.'  R.  G2 

Hayward's'  Pond.  G2 

(.53)  Heywood,  A.  B.  E7 

(.54)  Hey  wood,  Geo.  F7 

(55)  Heywood's  Brook.  J  7 

(.5(;)  Heywood's  Meadow.  J 7 

(.57)  Heywood's  Peak.  H  8 

(.58)  Heywood's  Wood-lot.  H8 

Hildreth,  G.  W.  D6 

Hill.    (See  Nawshawtuct.) 

(.59)  Hoar,  E.  Rockwood.  F  fi 

(00)  Hoar,  Samuel.  F7 

Hodgman,  J.  B8 

(Gl)  '■  Hogepen-Walke."  D4 

(62)  Holbrook,  J.  FT 

Holden,  T.  J  5 

(G3)  Holden,  or  Echo,  Wood.  H6 

Holden  Spruce  Swamp. 

(See  Kalnila  glauca  Swamp.) 

(G4)  Hollowell  Place.  H  5 

(G5)  Ho!t,  the.  D8 

Hosmer,  Abel.  F  4 


spelled  "  Uey  wood  "  by  Thoreau. 


{(JG)  Hosiiior,  EclinuiiJ  (before         i 

Ks.-.;;).  G'.i 

Husiiier,   Edmund  (after         | 
1853).  E(i 

Hosiner,  Jesse.  G  4  I 

Hosiiier,  John.  G  5 

Hosmer.  Just-pli.  Vil 

Howard's  Meadow. 
( See  Hey  wood's  Meadow.) 
Hubbard,  t".  G  li 

(G7)  Hubbard,  Ebbv.  FT 

(G8)  Hubbard's  Bath.  G  (!  j 

Hubbard's  Bridge.  H  G 

Hubbard's  Biook.  GG 

Hubbard's  Close.  G  8 

(G'.I)  Hubbard's  Grove.  G  5 

Hubbard's  Hill.  C  7 

Hunt,  D.  D7 

Hunt,  Wni.  D7 

Hunt  House,  Old,  or  Win- 

tlirop  House.  EG 

Hunt's,  or  lied.  Bridge.     E  G 

(70)  Hunt's  Pasture.  C  7 
Hutcliinson,  Peter.              E8 

(71)  Indian  Field.  EG 

(72)  Inn   kept    by    Tlioreau's 

Aunts.  F  7 

(73)  I.sland,tlie  (at  liigli  water).  F  G 

(74)  Jail.  F7 
Jarvis,  P'rancis.  E  7 

(75)  Jones,  Mrs.  D7 
Kalmia  glauca,  or  Holden 

Spruce,  Swamp.  H  G 

Kettell  Place.  E  10 

(7G)Keyes,  J.  S.  FT 

Kibbe  Place.  B7 

(77)  Laurel  Glen.  H7 
Leaning  Hemlocks.  E  G 

(78)  Ledum  Swamp.  H4 
Lee  Farm.  E5 
Lee,  I.  S.  KG 
Lee's,  or  Corner,  Bridge.  K  G 
Lee's  Cliff.  KG 
Lee's  Hill. 

(See  Nawshawtuct.) 
Legro.s8,  J. 
Lexington  Road. 

(See  Boston  Road.) 
Lily   Bay.=    (See  Willow 

Bay.) 

(79)  Lime-kiln. 

(80)  Lime  Quarry. 
(81)Linnrea  Hills. 

Little     Goose    Pond 
Ripple  Lake. 

(82)  Little  Truro. 

(83)  Lonely  Graveyard. 
Loring's  Pond. 
Lowell  Road. 
Mackintosh,  \V. 

(84)  Mantatuket       Point 

Rock. 
Marlborough  Road,  Old.    H3 
Ma.son,  J.  B8 

Maynard's  Place.  J  2 

Melvin,  Geo.  D6 

Melvin,  J.  B5 

Melvin  Preserve. 
(See  Easterbrook  Country.) 
Merriam,  D.  E  5 

Merrjam,  J.  E  10 


B4 


CG 
CG 
H4 

Hi) 
G5 
GG 
F3 
C5 
J9 

EG 


Merriam,  R.  FO 
85)  Merrick's  Pasture.  F  (! 
Mile.s,  Charles.  H5 
Miles,  J.  L5 
Miles,  Martial  and  War- 
ren. H  4 


(8G)  Miles's  Mill.  Warren.         H  4 

Miles's  Run,  Charles.         H5 

Miles  Swamp.  H4 

Mill  Brook.  F'.l 

(S7).Mill-ilam.  F7 

Mill  Road.  J  4 

Ministerial  Swamp.  II  .'1 

Minn's  Place.  K  .S 

(S.S)Minolt,  Abel.  K7 

Minott,  Geo.  F7 

(S;t)  Money-Diggers"  Shore.       G5 

(IM))  Monroe,  Francis.  FG 

(UI)  Monroe.  Wni.  FG 

Moore,  J.  B.  F8 

Moore's  Swamp.  E  S 

Mt.  Misery.  K  7 

Mt.  Tabor  K  10 

Nashoba  Brook.  E2 

Nawshawtuct,   or   Lee's, 

Hill.  FG 

Nightshade  Pond. 

(See  Clematis  Pond.) 
North  Branch. 

(Sec  As.sabi't  River.) 

(92)  North  I'.ridge.  Site  of  Old.  E  7 
(Battlf-Oroinid.i 

North  Bridge,  Pre.sent. 

(See  Flint's  Bridge.) 
Nut  Meadow'  Brook.  H  4 

One-Arch,  Eddy,  or  Assa- 

bet  Stone,  Bridge.  E4 

(93)  Orchis  Swamj).  J  7 

(94)  Orthodox  Church.  F  7 
Owl-Nest,  or  Fox  Castle, 

Swamp.  C  0 

(95)  Painted-Cup  Meadow.  E  4 
Peter's  Path.  E8 
Pine  Hill  (in  Concord).  E  10 
Pine  Hill  (in  Lincoln),  or 

Bare  Hill.  J  9 

(9C)  Pinxter  Swamp.  EG 

Pleasant  Meadow.  J  7 

Pole,    Creel,    or    Bidens, 

Brook.  K  G 

Ponkawta.sset  Hill.  D  7 

Poplar  Hill.  E  7 

Potter,  Jonas.  G  G 

(97)  Potter's  Field.  H  G 

(98)  Potter's  Swamp  Meadow.  H  G 

(99)  Pout" s  Ne&t,   or  Wyman 
Meadow.  H8 

Pratt,  Minot.  D7 

(lOO)Prescott,  G.  L.  E7 

(lOl)Pricliard,  M.  F7 

Powder-Mills.  H  1 

Putter,  B.  H  5 

(102)  Purple  Utricularia  Bay.    K  7 

(103)  Railroad  Depot  (Concord).  F  G 
Railroad  Depot  (Lincoln).  L  9 
Red  Bridge. 

(See  Hunt's  Bridge.) 
Rice,  Israel.  L  5 

(104)  Rice,  Reuben.  F7 

(105)  Ripley,    Mrs.    (-'Old 
Manse  "). 

Ripley  Hill. 

(Sec  Poplar  Hill.) 
Ripple  Lake 
(See  Little  Goose  Pond.) 
Sandy  Pond. 

(See  Flint's  Pond). 
Saw  Mill  Brook  (N.  E.). 
Saw  Mill  Brook  (S.  E.).3 
(lOG)  School     where     Thoreau 
taught. 
Second  Division  Brook. 
(107)  Second  Division  Spring 


(108)  Seven-Star  Lane.  J5 

(lOU)Shatturk,  D.  y ,; 

Shattuck,  H.  L.  D7 

(110)  Shrub  Oak  Plain.  J  7 

Sleepy  Hollow  Cemetery.  K7 

Smith.  ('.  H  Id 

Smith.  J.  A.  in 

(UljSmith,  J.M.  KG 

Smith's  Hill.  G  III 

South  Bridge. 

(Sep  Wood's   Bridge.) 

Spanish  Brook. 
(See  Well  Meadow  Brook.) 


E- 


07 
G9 

F7 
J  2 
H2 


Spencer  Brook. 

(112)  Squam  Harbor. 

(113)  Staples,  Sam. 
Stone  Bridge. 

(114)  Stow,  Cyrus 
Strawberry  Hill 
Sudbury  Sleadow 
Sudbury  Road. 
Sun.set  Reach. 

(See  Clamshell  Reach.) 

( 1 15)  Swauip  Bridge  Brook.        G  ( 
Tarl.ell,  D. 
Tarbell.  W. 

(llG)Tarbcll's  Spring. 

Temjile's  Place. 

Thoreau"s  Birthplace. 
(117)  Tlioreau's  Boat-Landing. 
(ll.S)Tlioreau's  Grave. 

Tlioreau's  H\it,  Site  of. 
(119)  Tlioreau's  Home   in   the 

Village.  F  fi 

(l'20)Tlirreau's  "Texas"  House.  FG 

Three    Friends',    or   Lin- 
coln. Hill. 
(121)  Town  Hall. 
(1-22)  Trillium  Wood.s. 

Tupelo  Cliff. 

(See    Bittern    Cliff.) 

Tuttle.  Aug. 

Union  Turnpike. 
(1'23) Unitarian  (First)  Church. 

Virginia  Road. 

"Waldeii  Pond. 

Walden  Road. 
(124)WaIden  Wood.s. 
(125)  Warner  Pail  Factory. 

Well  Meadow. 
(12G)Well    Meadow,  or   Span- 


C5 
I) '.I 
F7 
FG 
F7 
B3 
L5 
H5 


G4 

(■'.) 

(;4 

D4 
ElO 
F(. 
FT 
H7 


JIO 
F7 
H7 


G8 
F5 
F7 
E9 
HS 
G7 
HT 
F3 
J  7 


isli,  Brook 

Weston,  Daniel. 

Wetherbee,  L. 

Wharf  Rock. 

Wheeler,  Cyrus. 

Wheeler,  F.  A. 

Wheeler,  Samuel  G. 

Wheeler,  T. 
(127)  Wlieeler's  Swamp. 

White  Pond. 

Willis,  J. 
(12S)Winow  Bay.  or  Lily  Bay 

(129)  Willow  Inland. 
Winn,  P. 
Winthroj)  Hou.se. 

(See  Old  Hunt  House. 

(130)  Withered  Vale  or  Glade. 
Wood,  Elijah. 
Wood,  .las. 

(131)  Wood's,  or  South.  Bridge.  F  ( 


J  10 
B4 

H  10 
K5 
.15 
F5 
G4 
FG 
J  4 
(i  2 

.  (;5 
KG 
E  G 


Woodis  Park. 
(132)W.)od  Thru.sh  Path. 
Wright,  J. 
Wynian  Me.idow. 

(See  Pout's  Nest.) 
Yellow  Birch  Swamp. 


E  5 

H  10 

G9 


2  This  name  was  also  siven  to  a  bay  on  the  river  in  Siiillniry 

3  This  is  the  "  Saw  .Mill  Brook  "  most  frequently  mentioued  by  Thi) 


APPENDIX 

Index  to  Passages  Relating  to  Birds  in  Thoreao's 
Works  Exclusive  of  the  Journal 

Eiv.  =  Riverside  Edition.  Wal.  =  Walden  Edition. 

Week  =  A  Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merrimack  Rivers. 
Walden  ^  Walden,  or  Life  in  the  Woods. 
M.  W.  =:  The  Maine  Woods.  C.  C.  =  Cape  Cod. 

Exc.  =  Excursions.  Misc.  =  Miscellanies. 

References  in  parentheses  are  to  passages  taken  from  the  Journal  (and  appearing 
in  this  book)  but  usually  somewhat  revised. 

Bittern,  Riv. :  Week,  21  ;  Exc,  137.     Wal. :  Week,  17;  Exc,  111. 

Blackbirds,  Riv. :  Week,  514.     Wal. :  Week,  417. 

Bluebird,  Riv. :  Exc,  136.     Wal. :  Exc,  110. 

Bunting,  Black-throated,  Riv. :  C.  C,  156.      Wal. :  C.  C,  131. 

Chickadee,  Riv. :  Walden,  426  ;  M.  W.,  130,  144 ;  Exc,  138. 
Wal. :  Walden,  304;  M.  W.,  108,  118  ;  Exc,  112. 

Coots,  sea,  Riv. :  C.  C,  134,  135.     Wal. :  C.  C,  113,  114. 

Crow,  Riv. :  Exc,  139.      Wal. :  Exc,  113. 

"  Dipper,"  Riv. :  M.  W.,  226,  227.     Wal. :  M.  W.,  184. 

Duck,  domestic,  Riv.:  C.  C,  (100,  101).     Wal.:  C.  C,  (86). 

Duck,  Wood,  Riv. :  Exc,  328.     Wal. :  Exc,  268. 

Ducks,  wild,  Riv.:  Week,  6;  Walden,  385;  Exc,  135.  Wal.: 
Week,  6;  Walden,  274,275;  Exc,  110. 

Eagle,  Bald,  Riv. :  M.  W.,  35,  36,  384.     Wal. :  M.  W.,  30,  309. 

Flicker,  Riv. :  Exc,  (137).     Wal. :  Exc,  (111). 

Flycatcher,  Olive-sided,  Riv.:  M.  W.,  226.     Wal. :  M.  W.,  183. 

Fowl,  domestic,  Riv.:  Walden,  199,  200;  Exc,  301,302;  Misc, 
360,  361.     Wal. :  Walden,  140,  141;  Exc,  246,  411,  412. 

General  and  Miscellaneous,  Riv. :  Week,  70,  71,  208,  293,  419; 
Walden,  135,  330,  478,  479;  M.  W.,  143,  144,  178;  C.  C,  204, 
222;  Exc,  134-140,  182, 218,  (230),  (360,  361).  Wal. :  Week, 
56,  57,  167,  236,  237,  339  ;  Walden,  95,  234,  342  ;  M.  W.,  118, 
146,  184  ;  C.  C,  170,  184,  185;  Exc,  108-114,  149,  179,  (187, 
188),  (293,  294). 


444  APPENDIX 

Goldfinch,  American,  Riv. :  Exc,  139.     Wal. :  Exc,  113. 
Goose,  Canada,  Riv. :  AValden,  385,  421,  (482,  483).     Wal. :  Wal- 

den,  274,  275,  300,  (345). 
Grouse,  Ruffed,  Riv.:  Walden,  352-354,  427,  435;   Exc,    134. 

Wal. :  Walden,  250-252,  304,  305,  310,  311;  Exc,  109. 
Gulls,  Riv. :  C.  C,  83,  84, 104,  105,  306.     Wal. :  C.  C,  71,  72,  89, 

253. 
Hawk,  Fish,  Riv.:  M.  W.,  178;  Exc,  136,  137.     Wal:  M.  W., 

146;  Exc,  110,  111. 
Hawk,  Marsh,  Riv. :  Walden,  479.     Wal.  :  Walden,  342. 
Hawks,  Riv.:  Walden,  487,488;    M.  W.,  298.     Wal.:  Walden, 

348,  349  ;  M.  W.,  240,  241. 
Hen-hawks,  Riv. :  Walden,  248.      Wal. :  Walden,  176. 
Heron,  Great  Blue,  Riv. :  Week,  514.     Wal. :  Week,  416,  417. 
Heron,  Green,  Riv. :  Week,  309,  310,  (311).     Wal. :  Week,  249, 

(250). 
Jay,  Blue,  Riv. :  Walden,  425,  426  ;  Exc,  138,  243,  244.      Wal.- 

Walden,  303,  304  ;  Exc,  112,  199. 
Jay,  Canada,  Riv. :  M.  W.,  293.     Wal. :  M.  W.,  237. 
Loon,  Riv. :  Walden,  363-368  (mostly  from  Journal) ;  M.  W.,  225, 

251,  307,  308,  362,  377  ;  Exc,  140.     Wal. :  Walden,  258-262  ; 

M.  W.,  182,  203,  247,  248,  291,  303,  304  ;  Exc,  114. 
Merganser,  American,  Riv. :  M.  W.,  224,  225,  340,  343,  384,  385. 

Wal. :  M.  W.,  182,  274,  276,  309. 
Nighthawk,  Riv. :  Walden,  247,  248.     Wal. :  Walden,  175,  176. 
Owl,  Barred,  Riv. :  Walden,  411,  412.     Wal. :  Walden,  293. 
Owl,  Great  Horned,  Riv. :  Walden  (196,  197),  420,  421 ;  M.  W., 

384.     Wal. :  Walden,  (138,  139),  300,  301;  M.  W.,  309. 
Owl,  Screech,  Riv. :  Walden,  (194,  195).     Wal. :  Walden,  (138). 
Owls,  Riv. :  Week,  70.     Wal. :  Week,  56. 
Phalarope,  Riv. :  C.  C,  134.      Wal. :  C.  C,  113. 
Phcebe,  Riv. :  Walden,  491;  Exc,  134  note,  138.     Wal. :  Walden, 

351;  Exc,  109  note,  112. 
Pigeon,  Passenger,  Riv. :  Week,  292;  Walden,  (179),  248.     Wal. : 

Week,  235,  236;  Walden,  (127),  176. 
Plover,  Piping,  Riv. :  C.  C,  82,  134,  222.      Wal. :  C.  C,  71,  113, 

185. 


APPENDIX  445 

Plover,  Upland,  Riv. :  C.  C,  156, 196.     Wal. :  C.  C,  131,  132, 164. 
Robin,  Riv. :  Walden,  (481);  Exc,  134.     Wal. :  Walden,  (344)  ; 

Exc,  109. 
Sandpiper,  Spotted,  Riv. :   M.  W.,  178,  225.     Wal. :  M.  W.,  146, 

182. 
Shrike,  Riv. :  Exc,  134.     Wal. :  Exc,  109. 
Snipe,  Riv. :  Exc,  140.     Wal.  :  Exc,  113. 
Sparrow,  Song,  Riv.  :  Walden,  (480).      Wal. :  Walden,  (343). 
Sparrow,  White-throated,  Riv. :    M.  W.,  263,  264,  308.      Wal.  : 

M.  W.,  213,  214,  248,  249. 
Swallow,  Bank,  Riv. :  C.  C,  196.      Wal. :  C.  C,  164. 
Teru  (Mackerel  Gull),  Riv. :  C.  C,  82.      Wal.  •  C.  C,  71. 
Thrasher,  Brown,  Riv. :  Walden,  246,  247.      Wal. :  Walden,  175. 
Thrush,  "  wood,"  Riv. :  M.  W.,  229,  376.    Wal. :  M.  W.,  186,  303. 
Veery,  Riv. :  Exc,  138.      Wal. :  Exc,  112. 
Vireo,  Riv. :  Exc,  138.     Wal. :  Exc,  112. 
Whip-poor-will,  Riv.  :  Walden,  194.      Wal. :  Walden,  137. 
Woodcock,  Riv. :  Walden,  355.     Wal. :  Walden,  252,  253. 
Woodpecker,  Pileated  ("  red-headed  "),  Riv. :  M.  W.,  384.     Wal.  : 

M.  W.,  309. 


INDEX 


America,  the  yacht,  164  note. 
Apple  tree,  its  welcome   to    these 

shores,  431,  432. 
Audubon,  John  James,  quoted  and 

cited,  183,  270,  329  note. 
August,  tinkling  notes  of,  417,  418. 
Auk,  Little.    See  Dovekie. 
Autumn,  colors  of  birds  in,  415. 

Barrett,  Samuel,  113  and  note,  309. 
Barroom,  a  robin  in  a,  387. 
Bartlett,  Edward,  81,  128,  273. 
Bay-wing.     See  Sparrow,  Vesper. 
Bechstein,  Dr.  J.  M.,  quoted,  268, 

269. 
Bird,  in  the  hand,  417. 
Bird-Lore,  cited,  103  note. 
Bittern,  the  genius  of  the  Concord 

River,  218. 
Bittern,    American    (Stake-driver), 

63-71 ;  3,  79. 
Bittern,  Green.    See  Heron,  Green. 
Blackbird,  Cow.    See  Cowbird. 
Blackbird,     Crow.      See     Grackle, 

Bronzed. 
Blackbird,   Red-winged,    249-253 ; 

260,390,426;  liquid  notes  of,  261; 

song  belongs  to  the  stream,  388. 
Blackbird,    Rusty,  (Grackle),    255- 

257;  251,252,  260,  413. 
Blackbirds    (Miscellaneous),    259- 

264 ;  399. 
Blake,  Harrison  G.  O.,  41. 
Blueberry  "trees,"  108. 
Bluebird,  394-402 ;  298,  388,  391,  403, 

413,420,428,  430;   the  note  of  the 

first,  425. 
Bobolink,  244-247;  379,  411. 
Bob-white  (Quail),  94,95;   414,  416, 

423,  431. 
Boon  Plain,  138. 

Bradshaw,  Mr.,  of  Wayland,  7,  8. 
Brant,  46  note,  56. 
Breast,  of  a  hawk,  the  pure  white, 

165. 
Brewer,  Dr.  Thomas  M.,  quoted  and 

cited,  124,  304,  357. 
Brewster,  William,  138  note. 


Brooks,  George,  113  and  note,  116, 

185. 
Brown,  Frank,  47,  270,  319. 
Buffle-head,  44,  45 ;  2  note. 
Bunting,  Black-throated,  08  note. 
Bunting,  Snow,  277-285;  285,  319, 

417,  431. 
Buttrick,  Humphrey,  104,  418. 

Cabot,  J.  Elliot,  cited,  266  note. 

Cape  Cod,  17,  18. 

Cat,  the  Thoreaus',  438. 

Catbird,  361;  427. 

Cedar,  red,  423. 

Channing,  William  EUery,  2d,  52 
and  note,  59,  90-92,  105,  247,  331, 
375. 

Cherries,  and  the  birds,  432,  433. 

Cherry,  wild,  419. 

Cherry-bird.  See  Waxwing,  Cedar, 
48. 

Chewink.    See  Towhee. 

Chickadee  (Titmouse),  368-375;  226, 
367,  368,  388,  404,  415,  416. 

Chickens.    See  Fowl,  domestic. 

Clark,  D.  B.,  228. 

Climbing  a  tall  pine,  231. 

Cock.    See  Fowl,  domestic. 

Conantum,  22. 

Concord,  History  of,  quoted,  261. 

Coombs,  of  Concord,  26,  116,  117. 

Cooper,  Susan  Fenimore,  her  Rural 
Hours  cited,  5  note. 

Coot,  American,  83. 

Cowbird  (Cow  Blackbird,  Cow 
Troopial),  247-249 ;  435. 

Creeper,  Black  and  White.  See 
Warbler,  Black  and  White. 

Creeper,  Brown,  366 ;  416,  422. 

Crossbill,  Red,  267-269. 

Crow,  American,  229-243;  17,  142, 
153,  175,  226,  416;  teetering  along 
the  water's  edge,  14;  buffeting  a 
fish  hawk,  156;  alert  to  detect  fish 
hawks,  160,  161 ;  pursued  by  small 
birds,  427 ;  pursuing  flsh  hawk  and 
eagle,  427;  their  note  a  pulse,  431; 
and  a  boy's  dart,  433. 


448 


INDEX 


Cuckoo,  Black-billed  (St.  Domingo), 
190,  191;  111,  406;  nocturnal 
flights  of,  406  and  note. 

Dickcissel,  68  note. 

Dipper,  1-3,  433. 

Dove,  Mourning  (Turtle),  118, 119; 

113. 
Dovekie  (Little  Auk),  7,  8. 
Duck,  Black,  36-40;  4,  14,  15,  25,  27, 

34,  GO,  418. 
Duck,  Buffle-head,  44,  45 ;  2  note. 
Duck,  Wood  (Surumerj,  40-44;  68, 

418,  432,  433. 
Ducks,  domestic,  434;  1,  2,  436. 
Ducks,  wild,  (species  unnamed),  45- 

51;  4,  61,  408,  412. 
Dugan,  of  Concord,  112  and  note. 

Eagle,  166 ;  in  captivity,  146 ;  thought 

likened  to,  303. 
Eagle,    Bald    (White-headed),  148- 

150;  158,418. 
Eagle,  Cape,  418,  423. 
Ear,  the,  the  bird  and,  424. 
East  Harbor  River,  17. 
Eggs,  411. 

Election  day,  326  and  note. 
Emerson.  Edward  W.,  118,  123, 128. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  357,  385. 
Emerson,  William,  393. 
Ever-reds,  the,  369,  370. 

Farmer,  Jacob,  92,  102, 130  and  note, 

144,  212,  327,  329. 
Feathers,  of  a  hawk's  tail-coverts, 

143,  144. 
Finch,  Grass.   See  Sparrow,  Vesper. 
Finch,  Purple,  266,  267. 
Fire,    birds    awakened    by   a,    418, 

419. 
Flicker  (Pigeon  Woodpecker),  197- 

201;  406. 
Flight,  408,  409. 
Flint's  Pond,  24,  39,  108. 
Flocks,    solidarity  of,  404;    rolling 

over  in  flight,  408,  425. 
Flycatcher,  01ive-suled,(Pe-pe),  220. 
Fog,  bird-song  in,  410,  411. 
Fowl,  domestic,  434-440  ;  231. 
Franconia  Notch,  364. 
Fringilla    hyemalis.      See    Junco, 

Slate-colored. 
Frog,  dreaming,  405. 
Frost,  Rev.  Barzillai,  71. 


Garfield,  Daniel,  132. 

Garfield,  Edward,  103,  232,  423,  424. 

Garfield,  Isaac,  423. 

Garfield,  John,  71. 

Genius,  wildness  of,  145. 

Gilpin,  William,  quoted,  9,  10,  408. 

Golden-eye  (Whistler),  24,  25,  28,  47. 

Goldfinch,  American,  272-277 ;  387, 
412,  431. 

Goodwin,  John,  7,  43,  55,  83,  113,  235, 
340. 

Goosander.  See  Merganser,  Ameri- 
can. 

Goose,  Canada,  51-62 ;  4,  72. 

Goose  Pond,  4,  37,  40,  48,  58. 

Goshawk,  418. 

Grackle.    See  Blackbird,  Rusty. 

Grackle,  Bronzed,  (Crow  Blackbird), 
258,259;  260. 

Grebe,  Horned,  1,  2. 

Grebe,  Pied-billed,  2,  3.  See  also 
Dipper. 

Grosbeak,  Pine,  265 ;  319 ;  dazzling 
beauty  of,  421. 

Grosbeak,  Rose-breasted,  314-317. 

Ground-Robin.     See  Towhee. 

Grouse,  Ruffed,  (Partridge),  95-109 ; 
47,  168,  405,  413,  414,  416,  431 ;  tracks 
of,  234 ;  drumming,  418 ;  and  apple- 
buds,  432. 

Gull,  Herring,  9-17 ;  46,  50,  61,  412, 
413. 

Gull,  Mackerel.  See  Tern,  Common. 

Gun,  the,  410. 

Hair,  used  in  birds'  nests,  349. 

Hair-bird.    See  Sparrow,  Chipping. 

Hangbird,  Fiery.  See  Oriole,  Balti- 
more. 

Hawk,  Cooper's,  130,  131. 

Hawk,  Fish,  150-162;  110,418;  skel- 
eton of,  79. 

Hawk,  Marsh,  (Frog  Hawk,  Hen- 
harrier), 120-127;  333. 

Hawk,  Red-shouldered,  138  note. 

Hawk,  Red-tailed,  (Hen-hawk),  131- 
137. 

Hawk,  Rough-legged,  146-148- 

Hawk,  Sharp-shinned,  128-130;2&1. 

Hawk,  Sparrow,  150. 

Hawks  (species  unnamed),  163- 
168;  59,  409,  436;  two  at  play,  150, 
151. 

Hayden,  senior,  of  Concord,  94. 

Heater  piece,  278  note. 


INDEX 


449 


Hen-harrier.    See  Hawk,  Marsh. 
Hen-hawks,  138-146;  418;  flight  of, 

408.    See  also  Hawk,  Red-tailed. 
Hens,  231.    See  also  Fowl,  domestic. 
Herbert,  Mr.,  86. 
Heron,  Great  Blue,  71-79;  3,  68,  69, 

159. 
Heron,  Green,  (Green  Bittern),  79- 

81. 
Heywood,  George,  111. 
Hildreth,  Jonathan,  327,  328. 
Hoar,  Mr.,  of  Concord,  88,  392. 
Hoar,  Edward,  7. 
Hodge,  Dr.  C.  F.,  103  note. 
Holmes,  Dr.  Ezekiel,  quoted,  188. 
Hosmer,  Abel,  115. 
Hosmer,  Joseph,  184. 
Huckleberry-bird.       See     Sparrow, 

Field. 
Hummingbird,  Ruby-throated,  213, 

214;  423. 

Indian,  the,  and  the  robin,  389. 
Indigo-bird,  317,  318. 

Jay,  Blue,  225-229  ;  163,  368,  373, 

414,  416. 
Jones,  Josh,  236,  237. 
Junco,  Slate-colored,  (Slate-colored 

Snowbird,    Fringilla    hyemalis), 

301-305 ;  260,  276,  319,  320,  323,  324, 

363,  391,  413,  428. 

Kingbird,  215-218. 
Kingfisher,  Belted,  192. 
Kinglet,  Ruby-crowned,  (Ruby-crest- 
ed Wren),  376;  114  note. 

Lark.    See  Meadowlark. 

Lark,  Shore,  224,  225. 

Leaves,  rustling  of,  48;    withered, 

like  birds,  430. 
Lightning-bug,  406. 
Linaria.    See  Redpoll,  Lesser. 
Lind,  Jenny,  373  note. 
Linnaeus,  quoted,  436. 
Loon,  3-6. 

Loon,  Redrthroated,  7. 
Loring,  Mr.,  of  Concord,  54. 

MacGillivray,  William,  quoted,  133- 

136. 
Maine  woods,  in  the,  105. 
Man,  the  birds'  fear  of,  419. 
Mann,  Horace,  Jr.,  70,  79,  243. 


Marshfleld,  386. 

Martin,  Purple,  329;  watched  from 
an  attic  window,  403,  409. 

Meadow-Hen.    See  Rail,  Virginia. 

Meadowlark  (Lark),  253,  254;  302, 
391,  399,  413. 

Melvin,  George,  38,  105,  182,  285,  418. 

Merganser,  American,  (Sheldrake, 
Goosander),  19-36;  14,  74,  423;  in- 
tensely white  specks,  15 ;  sunk  low 
in  the  water,  50, 51 ;  at  home  on  the 
river,  50,  51. 

Merganser,  Red-breasted,  33. 

Merriam,  Joe,  39. 

Miles,  Martial,  125  and  note,  172. 

Milkweed,  water,  fibres  of,  250,  351, 
352. 

Minot's  Ledge,  18. 

Minott,  George,  37,  39,  56,  65,  69,  115, 
117,  168,  235,  236,  299,  309,  310,  336, 
337,   439. 

Mockingbird,  361. 

Moore,  J.  B.,  49. 

Morning,  awakening  of  birds  in,  414, 
415. 

Mornings,  ambrosial,  407. 

Mother-Carey's-Chicken.  See  Pe- 
trel, Wilson's. 

Mt.  Lafayette,  265  and  note,  316. 

Mt.  Monadnock,  209-211,  303-305,  364 
note,  393  and  note,  432,  440  and 
note. 

Mt.  Tabor,  112. 

Mt.  Washington,  363,  364,  427,  428. 

Musketicook,  80  and  note. 

Myrtle-bird.  See  Warbler,  Myrtle. 

Nature,  the  voice  of,  426. 

Nests,  adaptation    in  material   of, 

407;  to  be  studied  in  winter,  422; 

linings  of,  424. 
New  Bedford,  287  and  note,  434  and 

note. 
Nighthawk,  204-211;  405. 
Night-warbler,  366-358- 
Northeast  Carry,  105  note. 
Nuthatch,  White-bellied,  366-368; 

415,  416. 
Nuttall,  Thomas,  quoted  and  cited, 

129,  134,  172  note,  190  note,  205,  220 

note,  265,  270,  299  note,  316. 

Oriole,  Baltimore,  (Golden  Robin, 
Fiery  Hangbird),  264,  255;  426, 
430. 


450 


INDEX 


Ornithology,  of  no  service,  403. 
Oven-bird  (Golden-crowned  Thrush, 

"Night-warbler"),  366-368;  404, 

426. 
Owl,  Barred,  171,  172. 
Owl,  Great  Homed  (Cat),  183-189 ; 

415,  416. 
Owl,  Long-eared,  169,  170. 
Owl,  Saw-whet,  172. 
Owl,  Screech,  173-183;  432. 
Owl,  Short-eared,  170,  171;  417. 
Owl,  Snowy  (White),  417. 
Owls,  eggs  of,  176  and  note;  fitted 

to  withstand  the  winter,  183. 

Parrot,  441. 

Partridge.  See  Grouse,  Ruffed. 

Peabody,  W.  B.  O.,  his  Report  on  the 

Birds  of  Massachusetts  cited,  64, 

103,  321. 
Peetweet.  See  Sandpiper,  Spotted. 
Pe-pe.  See  Flycatcher,  Olive-sided. 
Petrel,    Wilson's,    (Mother-Carey's- 

Chicken),  18. 
Pewee.  See  Phoebe. 
Pewee,  Wood,  220-223 ;  379. 
Phoebe  (Pewee),  218-220. 
Pigeon,  domestic,  440-441. 
Pigeon,  Passenger  (Wild),  110-118. 
Piper  grass,  280  and  note. 
Pipit,  American,  (Titlark),  360. 
Plover,  93. 
Plover,  Upland,  91. 
Plymouth,  67  note. 
Pokelogan,  219  and  note. 
Pratt,  Miss  Caroline,  246. 
Pratt,  Minot,  212,  338. 
Protection  of  birds,  428,  429. 
Puffer,  of  Concord,  103. 

Quahog,  a  duck  caught  by  a,  434. 
Quail.  See  Bob-white. 

Rabbit,  432. 

Rail,  Carolina,  82. 

Rail,  Virginia,  (Meadow-Hen),  81. 

Railroad,  partridge  run  over  on,  107, 

108. 
Rails  (unidentified),  82 ;  3. 
Redpoll,  Lesser,  (Linaria),  269-272 ; 

417;  the  wonder  of  their  presence 

in  winter,  419-421. 
Redstart,  American,  368,  359. 
Rice,  Israel,  16,  115,  433. 
Rice,  Reuben,  117,  276,  433. 


Rice,  William,  276. 

Ricketson,  Daniel,  287  note,  309. 

Robin,  American,  385-394;  14,  298- 
300,  343,  399,  403,  406,  413,  416,  418, 
419,  425-427,  429. 

Robin,  Golden.  See  Oriole,  Balti- 
more. 

Rockport,  116  and  note. 

Sanborn,  F.  B.,  56. 

Sandpiper,  Solitary,  90,  91. 

Sandpiper,  Spotted,  (Peetweet),  91- 
93. 

Sawyer,  E.  J.,  103  note. 

Seringo-bird,  254.  See  also  Sparrow, 
Savannah. 

Shadows,  of  birds,  165. 

Shattuck,  Henry,  94. 

Shattuck,  Lemuel,  his  History  of 
Concord,  quoted,  261. 

Sheldrake.  See  Merganser,  Ameri- 
can. 

Shrike,  Northern,  341-344;;  416, 
417. 

Skinner,  the  bamess-maker,  38,  188, 
189 

Skinning  and  stuffing  a  bird,  23. 

Sky,  birds  seen  in,  412. 

Sleepy  Hollow  Cemetery,  118. 

Snares,  106. 

Snipe,  Wilson's,  86-89;  84,  159. 

Snow,  tracks  in,  99-102,  108,  232-235, 
282-284,  321,  431;  the  great  be- 
trayer, 291,  430,  431. 

Snowbird,  Slate-colored.  See  Junco, 
Slate-colored. 

Sora,  82. 

Sparrow,  Chipping,  (Chip-bird,  Hair- 
bird),  298,  299;  286,  349;  shivering 
on  an  apple  twig,  318. 

Sparrow,  Field,  (Rush  Sparrow, 
Huckleberry-bird),  299-301;  406, 
414;  Nature's  minstrel  of  serene 
hours,  403. 

Sparrow,  Fox,  311,  312;  260,  320, 
321,  324,  391. 

Sparrow,  Savannah,  (Seringo-bird), 
290,291;  167. 

Sparrow,  Song,  306-311;  14,324,387, 
390,  391,  393,  398-400,  405,  406,  413, 
418,  425-427;  a  true  ground-bird, 
323;  rills  of  song  from,  413. 

Sparrow,  Tree,  291-297;  14,  260, 
285,  309,  310,  320,  321.  323,  324,  391, 
415,  418. 


INDEX 


461 


Sparrow,  Vesper,  (Grass  Finch,  Bay- 
wing),  286-290. 

Sparrow,  White-throated,  352  and 
note. 

Sparrows  (miscellaneous),  318-324; 
391,  394;  pursued  by  a  hawk,  167; 
a  cricket-like  song,  405. 

Spruce,  black  and  white,  175  and 
note,  184  and  note. 

Spy-glass,  advantages  of,  19,  149; 
purchase  of,  149  note. 

Stake-driver.  See  Bittern,  American. 

Storms,  wild  life  in,  49,  72,  158,  159. 

Stow,  INIass.,  138  note. 

Suckers,  dead,  10. 

Summer,  reminiscence  of,  230;  the 
repose  of,  414. 

Sun,  the,  all  things  follow,  409. 

Swallow,  Bank,  332;  337,  339. 

Swallow,  Barn,  330,  331;  335-337, 
339. 

Swallow,  Chimney.  See  Swift,  Chim- 
ney. 

Swallow,  Cliff  (Eave,  Republican), 
329,  330;  337,  339. 

Swallow,  Tree  (White-bellied),  331; 
46,  335-337. 

Swallows  (general  and  miscella- 
neous), 335-339 ;  11,  63,  406. 

Swift,  Chimney  (Chimney  Swallow), 
212,  213 ;  337,  339,  419. 

Tanager,  Scarlet,  326-329. 

Teal,  4. 

Telltale.    See  Yellow-legs,  Greater. 

Tern,  Common,  (Mackerel  Gull),  17. 

"  Texas,"  Concord,  280  note,  287,  289. 

Therien,  Aleck,  370,  437. 

Thoreau,  Sophia  E.,  88,  438. 

Thoughts,  like  birds,  303. 

Thrasher,  Brown,  381-36S;  177,  361, 
414  ;  compared  with  the  wood 
thrush,  381. 

Thrush,  Bicknell's,  363  note,  428 
note. 

Thrush,  Golden-crowned.  See  Oven- 
bird. 

Thrush,  Hermit,  384,  386;  209  note, 
377  note,  410  note. 

Thrush,  Olive-backed,  209  note,  263 
note,  428  note. 

Thrush,  Wilson's.    -See  Veery. 

Thrush,  Wood,  377-383;  406,  414; 
the  genius  of  the  wood,  404;  enno- 
bles the  wood  and  the  world,  427. 


Thrush  Alley,  113. 

Titlark.    See  Pipit,  American. 

Titmouse.    See  Chickadee. 

Toad,  Fowler's,  405  note. 

Towhee  (Chewink,  Ground-Robin), 

313,  314;    378,   404,  406,  414;    on 

mountain-tops,  209. 
Townsend,  Dr.  Charles   W.,  cited, 

124  note. 
Tracks,  in  snow,  99-102,  108,  232-235, 

282-284,  321,  431. 
Troopial,  Cow.    See  Cowbird. 
Tuckerman's  Ravine,  303,  364,  428. 
Turtle,  snapping,  242,  243. 

Umbrella,  in  a  boat,  48 ;  as  a  blind, 
52,  53. 

Veery  (Wilson's  Thrush),  384;  368, 
405. 

Vireo,  Red-eyed,  406. 

Vireo,  Warbling,  426. 

Vireo,  Yellow-throated,  344. 

Vireos  (unspecified  and  unidenti- 
fied), 344-340. 

Walden  Pond,  1,  3,  10,  31,  32,  47,  54, 
55,  152,  162,  232,  233. 

Warbler,  Black  and  AVhite,  (Black 
and  White  Creeper),  347,  348; 
song  of,  414. 

Warbler,  Myrtle,  (Myrtle-bird),  362, 
363. 

Warbler,  Pine,  363-366 ;  153. 

Warbler,  Yellow,  (Summer  Yellow- 
bird),  348-352;  198. 

Warblers  (in  general),  369. 

Waxwing,  Cedar,(Cherry-bird),  340, 
341;  429. 

Wayland,  7,  8. 

Wetherbee,  114. 

Whip-poor-will,  203,  204;  173,  378. 

Whistler.    See  Golden-eye. 

White,  Gilbert.  436. 

White  Mountains,  birds  of,  427,  428. 
See  also  Mt.  Lafayette  and  Mt. 
Washington. 

White  T>ond,  39. 

Wilson,  Alexander,  quotations  and 
citations  from,  22,  55,  93,  102,  129, 
144,  157  note,  182,  210,  265,  284,  312, 
316,  318. 

Winter,  birds  of  a,  416,  417;  beauti- 
ful birds  in,  419-422. 

Woodcock,  84-86;  418. 


452 


INDEX 


Woodpecker,     Arctic     Three-toed, 

196,  197. 
Woodpecker,  Downy,  193-196 ;  360, 

415-417,  422,  430;  keeps  the  other 

side  of  the  bough,  226. 
Woodpecker,  Hairy,  192,  193. 
Woodpecker,  Pigeon.     See  Flicker. 
Woodpecker,  Pileated,  197. 
Woodpeckers     (species    unnamed), 

201-202 ;  391,  431 ;  arrival  of  the 

first,  426. 
Wren,  Ruby-crested.    See  Kinglet, 

Ruby-crowned. 


Wren,  Short-billed  Marsh,  364, 365; 

424. 
Wren,  Winter,  363,  364. 
Wyman,  John,  236,  237. 

Yellowbird,  Summer.    See  Warbler, 

Yellow. 
Yellow-legs,  Greater,  (Telltale),  89, 

90. 
Yellow-throat,  Maryland,  356  note, 

358. 
Young  birds,  in  August,  68;  colors 

of,  410. 


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